


Mark'd

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freshly jilted James Norrington kills Will Turner in a duel. Elizabeth takes revenge into her own hands, and becomes a fugitive from British justice. She takes refuge on Tortuga hoping to find Jack Sparrow, and in an odd turn of fate finds herself earning her bread as a tattooist. It's Sparrabeth, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pistols at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This came about in part after viewing several incredible examples of antique dueling pistols at a gun show. They’re beautiful, inlaid with silver, embellished with engravings of mythical creatures and acanthus leaves, svelte and expertly crafted—until you think about the ugly thing they were really made to do. It seems my imaginings on the subject, as in all things, leads to another foray into the world of POTC…  
> Also, I LOVE tattoos. I have a couple myself, and I had a blast researching the history of the art of tattooing, and the language/symbology associated with nautical tattoos. Some of what I mention probably actually came later than the golden age of piracy c 1700-1730, but I hope you will forgive my taking of artistic liberties for the sake of the story. :) Also, I know Jack’s tats are shown briefly in AWE, including a massive full back inking of the poem Desirderata, (please see Colorblindly’s musings on that subject on tumblr because she’s brilliant!) but I’ve decided to use a less than canon description of Jack’s tattoos for my own purposes.  
> Lastly, I warn you this is a little dark, even for me. But, in the blackest darkness we can see the brightest light…  
> Obviously, I own nothing and make no money, blah blah blah. That said, I hope you enjoy! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This came about in part after viewing several incredible examples of antique dueling pistols at a gun show. They’re beautiful, inlaid with silver, embellished with engravings of mythical creatures and acanthus leaves, svelte and expertly crafted—until you think about the ugly thing they were really made to do. It seems my imaginings on the subject, as in all things, leads to another foray into the world of POTC…  
> Also, I LOVE tattoos. I have a couple myself, and I had a blast researching the history of the art of tattooing, and the language/symbology associated with nautical tattoos. Some of what I mention probably actually came later than the golden age of piracy c 1700-1730, but I hope you will forgive my taking of artistic liberties for the sake of the story. :) Also, I know Jack’s tats are shown briefly in AWE, including a massive full back inking of the poem Desirderata, (please see Colorblindly’s musings on that subject on tumblr because she’s brilliant!) but I’ve decided to use a less than canon description of Jack’s tattoos for my own purposes.  
> Lastly, I warn you this is a little dark, even for me. But, in the blackest darkness we can see the brightest light…  
> Obviously, I own nothing and make no money, blah blah blah. That said, I hope you enjoy! :)

_Elizabeth Swann was born to a gentile household with blue blood in her veins, and thus her life was supposed to unfold in the straightest of lines. She would grow up to become a lovely young debutante, marry well, and have a family. Her children would be expected to do the same, and so on and so forth, an unending cycle of proliferation ._

_None of these plans brought into account an errant piece of Aztec gold, a shipwrecked boy whose father had been a buccaneer, or especially the friendly acquaintance she would make with the legendary pirate Jack Sparrow. Furthermore, who could have guessed that Elizabeth would fall in love not with the upstanding Commodore James Norrington, to whom she was promised, but with that young blacksmith of questionable lineage?_

_James Norrington certainly had not understood it, and set about to restore the balance of society in the way gentlemen have settled their disputes since medieval times. Ladies, especially not ones as fine and coveted as Elizabeth Swann, simply were not meant to marry blacksmiths, no matter the yearnings of the heart. And so he challenged young William to a duel, as honor demanded._

_One quiet dawn upon the beach outside the town, James faced William Turner in a sanctioned duel between men. It began with pistols, a pair of beautiful silver-inlaid pieces crafted by the finest gun smith in London, works of art created for the purpose of killing for honor. Perhaps the boy had practiced for hours on end daily with a sword in his sooty smithy, but he had very little experience with firearms. With the first shot James wounded the boy badly, and Will was too proud to surrender in the subsequent bout with swords._

_In a fit of cool fury James cut the boy down, years of military conditioning guiding a deadly sword hand. Standing on the quiet beach with the blacksmith’s body at his feet, James could hardly even remember how it all happened._

_When Elizabeth received the news that her fiancé had been killed she did not leave her bed for five days. She lay supine, staring at the wall, refusing to eat or hardly even drink. On the sixth day she rose like a wraith from her bed, gaunt and eyes bruised from crying. A new cause possessed her, and with single-minded determination she set about to make it so._

_One night, a month later, she dressed in dark men’s clothing and went to James’ rooms. It was almost too easy to scale the tree outside, and make her way in through the window. In the shadows of his bedchamber she waited, seated in a plush chair in the corner. When James finally came in, exhausted from a long day’s work, he almost did not notice her in the light of the single candle he brought in._

_“What the devil? Elizabeth, is that you?”_

_She could hear the surprise in his voice, but also curiosity._

_Titillation._

_What could she be doing in his bedchamber this late at night, if not…? She could tell that even now, he did not fathom that he was in danger._

_“Did you enjoy it?” she asked, her voice a hollow echo of the emptiness she felt inside._

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_“Did you enjoy killing Will?” she expounded. “Did it bring you pleasure?”_

_He stiffened. “Of course not,” he spat, somehow finding the capacity for indignity._

_“Then why do it?” she asked, her voice flat. The suggestion of tears rose in the back of her throat, but she quashed them down._

_She’d promised herself that she would not cry anymore._

_“Honor,” he answered quietly, sensing how foolish it sounded now._

_“His life was worth so little? That kind, sweet boy, who had never raised a hand to anything but the iron upon his anvil, before the pirates came?”_

_James found he had no good answer. “He had no right to take you,” he finally huffed, disliking being forced to look in the mirror and account for his actions. It was something he only did late at night when fortified with several glasses of brandy, and at his own behest._

_Everyone else accepted Will’s death as a justified act, even inevitable. The boy forgot his place, and so Commodore James Norrington reminded him._

_“I was never yours,” she informed him blandly. “Once, I thought we were friends, James. But I never loved you.”_

_“You would have, Elizabeth, in time—”_

_“Time is up,” she said ominously. “You decided that Will’s life was worth so little that you could snatch it from him without consequence. Well, I what if **I** decided that **your** life was worth nothing?”_

_A thread of caution entered his voice as he said, “Elizabeth, you’re just—”_

_“A woman?” she finished for him. It was exactly what he intended to say, but for some reason he deemed it wise to remain silent, a chill running down his spine. “If you had truly loved me, James, you would have let us be. But what you really love is your reputation. I wonder what people will say when they hear a woman has killed **you**?”_

_She revealed the object clasped in her right hand. It was her father’s pistol, its fine silver chasing gleaming with deadly promise in the low light. It was heavy in her hand as she levelled it at James. Her hand shook. It never had when she’d practiced with it upon the beach, firing upon shells lined up on a piece of driftwood, imagining putting a lead ball in the Commodore’s cold heart._

_But this was different, she supposed._

_James held out an entreating hand._

_“Elizabeth, don’t.”_

_She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger._

_The deafening crack split the air of the small room, and the Commodore crumpled to the ground._

_The rest passed as a blur. She did not know how long she stood there with a ringing in her ears, the sting of burnt salt-peter in her nose, watching James bleed upon his Turkish rug. Long enough for his man servant to burst through the door, raising the alarm. It was the necessary catalyst to nudge Elizabeth into action. In all the hurry she dropped the pistol at the scene like a calling card, scrambling out the window and down the plumeria tree._

_She stole into the night, knowing from that moment forward she would be a hunted woman. For men could kill each other in a civilized fashion at an appointed hour, but true justice delivered at the hands of a woman could be considered nothing but an unnatural menace._

 

XXX

 

Elizabeth woke with a gasp, looking about with wild rum-colored eyes. Slowly reality settled back upon her. She was not in Port Royal. Two years had passed since she shot Commodore James Norrington.

The sound of the waves, not but a stone’s throw from her door, calmed her pounding heart. She was in her narrow rope bed upon a tick mattress, surrounded by the rickety walls of the shack by the sea she called home. Moonlight splashed across her floor, a space she could cross in four good steps.

Space was tight, but her quarters suited her new life.

Simple.

Rough.

A wooden shell that had weathered a storm or two, but lived to tell the tale.

James had not died.

She’d only hit him in the shoulder, and though she heard infection nearly took him, James Norrington lived to tell the tale.

Her marksmanship had improved considerably since then.

After allegedly killing the Commodore, for she had not yet heard the news of his survival, Elizabeth had stowed away on a ship bound at dawn for the Bahamas. She’d managed to steal a single-masted skiff that could easily be handled by one person, and she made her way to Tortuga, thinking it a proper place for an outlaw to hide.

Secretly in her heart she’d hoped to see a ship with black sails moored in the harbor. Hoped to find a familiar pair of soulful dark eyes, and a sympathetic ear. Perhaps even an idea or two as to some employment that would not require spreading her legs.

But Jack Sparrow was not to be found. The Pearl had gone to Madagascar, some said, or perhaps even the Far East. Rumor was all, but the gist was that the Pearl was not in the Caribbean.

Elizabeth stumbled upon gainful employment on her own one night, walking the streets of Tortuga, her last pence spent on a bowl of questionable stew and a flagon of grog. Unsure of her heading, she’d wandered by a legless old man seated outside his shack, administering a tattoo of a skull and crossbones upon a pirate’s shoulder. The old man puffed on a long pipe in one hand, and dipped a needle in a shell full of black ink with the other, piercing his client’s skin repeatedly.

The design was actually rather fine, of considerably better quality than many she’d had occasion to observe in her short time upon the island. “Ye like tattoos, lass?” had asked the old man with surprising warmth, a small smile curling weathered lips.

“I like your work,” she complemented. “Very fine.”

“Would ye like one?” he offered, finishing up his patron, wiping it down with a bit of watered rum. It stung like the devil, but for some reason it seemed to cut down on the swelling and infection so common the next day. “A nice flower, perhaps? A sweetheart’s name?”

“I haven’t any money,” she admitted sadly.

“Well…ye have two legs, which is a sight more than I can say for me’self. Could use a helper, unless ye’ve got something better to do.”

That night Elizabeth received her first tattoo, a flower upon her wrist. At first glance it appeared an innocuous little posie, but on closer examination one could identify it as an oleander, a beautiful but very poisonous flower.

As the man who called himself Tattoo Tom pricked her skin again and again with his ink stained needle she told him the story of all she’d lost and how she’d come to this island of cut-throats and brigands. He had a way of drawing it out of her, with laughing gray eyes and a sympathetic turn of his mouth. She read the spark of approval in his eyes as she recounted how she’d shot the Commodore and escaped into the night, the old man nodding with his pipe clamped between his teeth.

Somewhere between the countless pricks of the needle, the pain dull but insistent, Elizabeth marveled that for the first time in ages she actually seemed to _feel_ something. Even if it was pain, she would take it over the numb that had set over her, turning the world a hopeless gray.

“There now,” he’d said, finishing her oleander. “Perhaps someday soon that scoundrel Jack Sparrow will return from the East with the load of fine Japanese inks he promised. That will add a nice bit o’ color to your mark.”

“You know Captain Jack Sparrow?” Elizabeth had gushed, unable to contain herself.

The old tar’s mouth had split into a grin. “Aye, since he was a lad. Sailed with his father, I did, on both sides of the law. You know ol’ Jack?”

They stayed up long into the night, exchanging stories over a bottle of run. When the vile libation won its battle with them, Tom slept in his chair, and let Elizabeth curl up in his bed in the corner of his small shack built of driftwood and flotsam from old ships.

Elizabeth stayed on with Tattoo Tom, running errands, and doing a little cooking and cleaning. He treated her well, like a niece or long lost daughter, and she doted on him too. Despite his gruff exterior, he really was a kind old man, and entertaining too. She watched him ply his trade with fascination, and eventually she worked up the courage to ask him to teach her his art. She had always excelled at rendering; drawing and painting had been one of the few subjects she could apply herself to with gusto as child and young lady without being bored to tears.

Tom liked the sketches she would sometimes scribble out, and knew his odd little foundling had potential as an artist of the ink. If Weatherby Swann could have ever guessed what Elizabeth would someday use the years and years of art training under the most expensive tutors from Europe for, he would have locked up her brushes and thrown her paints out the window.

In this way she became Tom’s apprentice, and through him she began to gain some acceptance upon the island. Aside from Ana Maria and Anne Bonny, the men of Tortuga knew not what to think of a woman who was not a lady of the nocturnal profession. Elizabeth seemed to be of finer stock, and yet no one knew from whence she’d come. On Tom’s advice, she kept her exalted origins and the story of her misadventure with the Commodore to herself. Some passes were made, and repelled, without much incident. Elizabeth continued to perfect her new calling, practicing on the brave, the drunk, and even her own flesh.

She began to accumulate a collection of her own tattoos, joining the ranks of the mark’d pirates of Tortuga, wearing her story on the outside as well as within. There was something therapeutic in harnessing one’s history in permanent ink under the skin. You could tell events your way, and make a talisman against your worst fears. Lizzy wore her marks with pride, smiling when she thought of what her old friends in Port Royal would say if they could see them.

After the oleander flower came an anchor upon her inner forearm. A compass rose upon her shoulder. A sword fashioned after Will’s own stretched the length of her other inner forearm, piercing a heart. Lastly, Elizabeth sported a siren that wrapped from her lower back down her hip, a skull in her hand, and a ship sailing upon the rolling waves of the mermaid’s hair.

In time, Elizabeth became a good needle-woman, then even exceptional. Men began to come to Tom’s shack to see the designs Elizabeth pinned to the walls. She expanded from tattoos to other arts, embellishing maps, and sometimes even sketching commissioned portraits. The pirates who all considered themselves legends in the making enjoyed seeing their likenesses put down on thick paper. More like than not they would die on their next voyage, and Elizabeth’s infamous portraits provided a rare permanence to their otherwise feckless existence.

Time went on, and with surprise one evening, sitting on the back porch overlooking the water, the sweet scent of Tom’s tobacco perfuming the salt-tinged air, Elizabeth found that she was actually _happy._ It sneaked up on her unexpectedly, like an old friend come home. As though he sensed this revelation, Tom had patted her shoulder before making his way inside on his crude wheeled chair and the ropes secured for pulling himself about the shack.

The next morning, Elizabeth found her old friend sitting cocked in his chair, seemingly asleep. But something wasn’t quite right, and as she neared closer she realized the kind old tar had passed away.

The island sent him off with a hero’s funeral, and everyone of permanent residence, and most of the crews in port too, showed to pay their respects to the renowned tatooist. The solemn ceremony was followed by a raucous wake in the best buccaneer style. Elizabeth sang songs and drank like an equal amongst the men, and heard stories about Tom that the humble old pirate had never told her.

Before losing his legs in a disagreement with a cannonball he’d been a first rate adventurer, and a force to be reckoned with. He’d had a wife and a daughter on Tortuga, who had been taken one after the other by a fever one merciless summer. Tom had never mentioned them, but suddenly Elizabeth had understood the occasions late at night when Tom would look at her with a wistful longing in his eyes. Had she lived, Tom’s daughter Sally would have been about Elizabeth’s age. It also explained the tattoo of “Nancy” on his forearm in a heart, of whom he’d never spoken.

During the bittersweet revelry Elizabeth was reminded why she did not often go out to the pubs. Ironically, she was comfortable in her solitude, but in company she was so sorely reminded of everything she’d lost. She would long for Will’s rough hands and gentle eyes, or even a wobble-legged pirate to keep her company with stories across the table.

That night, Elizabeth met the notorious Captain Charles Vane. He was famous for his brutality and prowess in battle, and yet for her he offered a genuine smile and an offer to buy her a drink. They’d talked late into the night, even shared a sweet rum-soaked kiss. Charles walked her home, and was so very surprised when she did not invite him inside her little shack for the sort of comfort only two warm bodies in the dark can provide. Vane was a good-looking man who received favors for free more often than he paid for them from the girls, and Elizabeth’s polite refusal befuddled him.

After that Charles began to stop in, bringing her small treats, an orange, a quill, a shimmering scarf of Indian silk or a packet of sandalwood incense. He purchased a tattoo, and then a portrait, grinning with delight for his likeness in ink. “Think I’ll send this to the Admiralty,” he mused. “Tis a much better likeness than the picture on my broadside. A man likes to look his best, you know.”

Elizabeth liked Charles, and yet _something_ about him urged her to remain cautious. Every once in a while _something_ made her uneasy in his presence. He was a predator of the sea, she rationalized, as surely as a shark. She wouldn’t forget it.

Next, he requested a portrait of _her._ At first she said no, pleading that she couldn’t, and besides, she didn’t have a looking glass to draw from. The next day Charles brought her a glass in a gilded frame, a very rare item in those days, and a pigment stained box that was filled with all the trappings of the trade of an easel painter.

There were brushes of sable and boar’s hair, fine pigments to grind, and oils for mixing. Vermillion, lake, lapis lazuli, naples yellow, sienna, umber, ocre, and lead white—it was like a box filled with all the wonder of a rainbow, and Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as she surveyed the treasure within. The smell of the linseed oil took her back to her childhood, times of both sitting for portraits and creating her own works. She noticed a name etched into the upper inner corner of the case: _David T. Fenwick_. She laughed, and then realized that she could not reveal the reason for her mirth without also revealing where she’d come from.

So, she made up a little lie. “Mr. Fenwick painted my mistress’ portrait when she turned sixteen,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “He was an excellent painter but a horrid man, cranky as an old boar and proud as a peacock. Made her miserable. Did you steal this from him?”

Vane smiled, pleased to see her happy. “Jack Rackham did. Said he was an ornery old goat and very upset to lose his colors.”

“They’re very expensive,” Elizabeth confirmed, holding up the lapis, admiring the gold flecks within the dreamy blue stone. “Some almost worth their weight in silver.”

“Then it is fitting you shall have them. Paint me a grand self-portrait, Elizabeth.”

When she attempted to protest one last time he set down a stack full of gold doubloons that made her eyes wide as saucers.

Funny, that once such a thing would not have impressed her. But now she knew what it meant to be hungry, and to sometimes want for simple necessities. In a way Elizabeth felt as though she’d come to sell herself after all. And yet she had learned that sooner or later, everyone has to sell _some_ piece of themselves to survive in this world. No one’s hands remain clean. Not really.

Reluctantly she agreed, and went to work first with sketches. It had been so long since she’d looked at herself, and it was rather a shock to see what she’d become. Sun-browned, hair bleached by the sun and adorned with braids and beads. Her eyes held a darkness now, and on a whim she decided to paint her lids with a cosmetic she rarely had occasion to use, lining her eyes with kohl. She was still beautiful, she discovered, almost disinterestedly, like happening upon an unexpected flower blooming in an otherwise forbidding wood.

Resigned, she began to draw.

In a month’s time she had completed the portrait for Vane, and he beamed with pleasure to receive it. “I think I shall keep it in my cabin,” he remarked. “As the real thing continues to evade me.”

He’d gauged her reaction with a sideways look, finding her response amused but aloof. With a sigh, he went on his way, with a promise to return later.

Vane never asked if there was someone else in her life. An event for which she waited with such determined patience. She wasn’t sure she could have told him if he had, but deep in her heart she knew she had not yet given up hope that someday a ship with black sails would appear on the horizon.

 


	2. Sailor's Ruin

** Chapter II: Sailor’s Ruin **

 

More time passed, filled with good and bad. The days seemed to run together, though not in the monotonous march as she’d feared in adulthood as a girl. It was simply life, she realized, you had to fill it with _something_ until your time came. At least she could truly say she was a woman who had left her mark, upon a great deal of the pirates who passed through their debauched little port.

Sometimes she went out sailing on her single masted skiff, to fish and to be on the water, and it was upon her return one such day that she found a handsome ship with black sails had slipped into the harbor. Hungrily her eyes searched her svelte lines, starving for a glance of her captain upon deck.

Even after so much time, her heart flipped giddily with the thought that Jack could be near. _Here,_ in their town! For the first time since Will had been alive she was reminded what it felt like to actually be _excited_.

Despite her elation, Elizabeth found that once she returned home to her little shack, she could not bring herself to venture out again. After _three_ years, just what did she think she would have to say to Jack? “ _Hello_ ” seemed far too pedestrian, and “ _Will is dead and I shot the Commodore_ ,” a bit gauche.

And so she stayed at home thinking about it, and the sun slipped below the horizon. She did a few small tattoos for some men who claimed to be Sparrow’s crew. A nautical star, and a sparrow to mark another 5000 miles sailed.

The hour grew late and no more customers came through the door. She decided it was time to pack up for the night, and began to clean up the day’s messes. As she picked up the shell in which she mixed her Chinese black ink, with just a hint of gunpowder sprinkled in for good luck in battle, the door creaked open.

“I’m closing for the night,” she called over her shoulder, reaching to dump the ink in a spittoon.

“That’s a shame, because I have brought the most lovely inks of red, yellow, blue, and green, all the way from the Japans. I’ve just come from the Orient and I believe I have earned myself a dragon.”

Elizabeth whirled, dropping the shell. It shattered, ink splashing over the floorboards. She didn’t care in the least, her heart filled with indescribable elation. “Jack!” she exclaimed, her trepidation evaporating and she pounced to embrace him. At first he was surprised by the assault, but soon abandoned caution, wrapping arms about her narrow waist in a warm hug. He chucked her under the chin, turning her glassy eyed gaze up to his. “When they told me a comely young lass named Lizzy had taken up Tom’s business I _never_ imagined it would be _you_ , darlin’. What happened?”

Her excitement tempered a little under his curious stare. He was swarthy and sun-browned, ever the handsome rogue, everything she remembered and more. But she? What a _sight_ she must have made, since last they’d met. _How far she’d fallen_. She epitomized Outlaw Raggamuffin Chic, her hair wild in beads and braids, her once fair skin now marked with ink and scars, her eyes hardened by life.

She feared she saw pity in Jack’s eyes, and for the first time in ages she felt the urge to cry. “Will is dead,” she choked out, and the rest flowed after. With a furrow in his brow Jack drew her down to sit beside him on a red brocade chaise she used for tattooing. The chair had come from a French trade ship. By the nature of her economy Tortuga was a strange mix of poverty and opulence, and one could find the most unexpected finery in the oddest of places. Lizzy’s little driftwood shack was no exception to the rule.

“That’s quite a tale, love. Not even I could have made that one up,” he said as she finished the telling of shooting James and escaping in the hold of a ship.

She laughed harshly, hiding her face in her hands. Jack’s wiry arm still looped about her shoulders, inspiring an unexpected warmth to kindle in her belly. She’d not taken comfort in masculine company, except for Tom’s fatherly presence, since before Will had died.

Suddenly she didn’t want to talk about it.

She didn’t want to mention any of it ever again.

“So you say you’ve earned a dragon, Jack Sparrow? Do tell, and meanwhile I will make you a drawing.”

“A long tale, Lizzy darlin’. We’re going to need a drink.”

She produced a bottle of rum, all too happy to play host.

“Ah, so you haven’t burned it all,” he teased.

“I can think of no better way to make yourself unwelcome upon a pirate island,” she replied with a small smile. “And besides. I rather like it, now.”

As he talked, splayed out on the chaise with a hand behind his head, languid as a cat, she sketched. Slowly the rum took hold, lending the moment a warm fuzzy glow. What a reunion, Elizabeth marveled as she drew. The vile libation seemed to loosen Jack’s tongue even more, the light in his eyes burning brighter. In time Jack rose from the chaise to peruse the shack.

Though there wasn’t anything terribly _girly_ about, somehow she had managed to lend a feminine touch to ol’ Tom’s humble abode. Jack thought the old tar wouldn’t have minded, really. They’d never really spoke of it, but Jack knew the death of his girls had left a massive black hole in Tom’s heart. He suspected the appearance of Lizzy had been just the thing for an old sailor’s last years.

The flash sketches in Lizzy’s hand that were nailed all over the walls were impressive. There was everything from sharks to sparrows, Krakens, dolphins, and stars and ships and women in all states of dress. It was the drawing of a mermaid that caught Jack’s eye. “Anyone pick this one?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Elizabeth paused in her drawing. “I did,” she admitted quietly, thinking she might regret revealing the information.

Jack’s expression sharpened, curiosity and a certain hunger evident in his fine features. “May I see it?” he asked, rubbing his ringed hands together in anticipation.

She raised an eyebrow, a small smile curling her lip. “That’s rather private, Jack,” she said, suddenly enjoying the cat-and-mouse turn in their evening.

With a theatrical sigh Jack made his way over to her, peering over her shoulder at her drawing. She could feel the warmth of his body at her back, smell the medley of spices, salt, and something indefinable that was so distinctly _Jack._ Her heart skipped in her chest as he reached out to draw back her sleeve, exposing the oleander tattoo.

“Pretty,” he said quietly, his gentle exploration sending a thrill up her arm. And yet by the considering look in his eyes, she suspected he knew it was more than just a picture of a posey. He took her hands in his, examining her long fingers. He smiled at seeing the words _Hold Fast_ inked upon the sides of her left middle and ring fingers. Upon the other hand he found _Never Look Back_ spread between three fingers. It was a useful mantra, of which she could remind herself with just the spreading of her hand.

Elizabeth’s breath hitched as Jack continued his quest for her ink, sliding the loose sleeves of her shirt up her arm to reveal her anchor. The tip of his finger traced the black of its outline, twirling over the rope laced through its eye. “Stability,” he theorized, looking down his nose, reading her marks like a book. “And ye have crossed the Atlantic at least once, of course.”

“Yes,” she affirmed, her voice so soft she hardly recognized it.

Next he examined her other forearm, the intricate sword piercing a heart. “Remembrance of your lost lover, I reckon’.”

This time she could not speak, only nodded.

She gasped when ever so gently he shifted the collar of her shirt aside, revealing the compass rose upon the forward cap of her shoulder. Once upon a time she would have slapped him for such a liberty, but now it was all she could do not to close her eyes and purr. “A compass, so that you will not lose your way.” His finger dipped just a _hair_ too low as he traced the stylized star, and with a gasp she caught his rough hand in hers. She liked the feeling of his hands upon her. _Too much,_ perhaps.

“Jack…”

“Lizzy?”

She noted the spark of interest shining in Jack’s beautiful dark eyes. It was a look of mischief that melted her insides. In that moment she was taken back to that deserted island—an untried girl, all alone with a notorious pirate. How she’d _wanted_ to explore the spark in those eyes then. She’d burned the rum in part to save them, but in part to save her from _herself_.

But what did propriety matter, _now?_

She marveled a little that this was Jack’s first night back in port for who knew _how_ long, and he was choosing to spend the evening with _her,_ rather than raucous merry-making in the tavern with a whore on each arm.

The ladies of the night all spoke _so_ fondly of Jack. She remembered the stories she’d heard, some that made her blush, in a short time abed she’d spent at Madame Dubois’ place.

Perhaps by the warm look in his eyes, she shouldn’t have been _too_ mystified as to why he chose to spend his time here with her. But a large enough part of her remained unsure, that she evaded, “I am trying to make this drawing for you, and you are keen to distract me.”

“Am I?” The pirate pursed his lips in a little pout. It was funny, that a pirate with a presence such as Jack’s could appear adorable, but somehow this man managed. “I’m curious about you, darlin’. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he offered with a gold-glinting smile, earning himself a little laugh.

“An intriguing offer, Captain Sparrow.” She couldn’t help but notice the way he straightened at hearing his name and title from her lips, proud as a young cockerel still. It made her smile widen.

She thought of the mermaid upon her hip, and what it would be like to feel Jack’s curious touch upon _that_ part of her body. His gaze raked over her in a way that sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. Elizabeth floundered, drowning in embarrassment and desire, searching for something to say. She averted her eyes to her drawing of an Asian dragon.

Movement out the corner of her eye drew her attention back to Jack, and she balked as she saw he was removing his tunic and shirt. “Jack!”

“I said I’d show ye mine,” he protested, mischief glittering in his black eyes. “And besides. We have t’decide where we’re going to put _that._ ” The latter was punctuated by a be-ringed wave in the direction of her drawing. She supposed that meant he liked her design. It had come along rather nicely, she thought, considering its coils and the smoke rising from its nostrils. She liked to play with areas of negative space as well as dark line, and this subject afforded the perfect opportunity.

Faced with a shirtless Jack Sparrow in her humble— _very humble—_ abode, Elizabeth fought to keep her expression bland. Though she was quite used to seeing sailors with their shirts off, hard-muscled bodies sculpted by hard sailing, Jack was exquisitely beautiful in his own unique way. How far she’d come from her former life, she thought, that now she could read the language of his body art. Sparrows for his namesake and good luck, stars for navigation, anchors, ropes and daggers. Miles travelled, triumphs made, mates lost. A pig and a rooster as a charm against drowning. A ship with black sails cut proudly across his left pectoral. His truest love, she reckoned without jealousy. The Pearl was a ship well worth a man’s devotion.

“Running out of real-estate, eh love?” he said with a wry flash of gold, looking down at himself. Elizabeth felt ridiculously bold as she stood from her seat, and tentatively reached out, her finger tips tracing the lines of his ribcage. Jack hissed with surprise, not expecting her to act so boldly so soon, her touch setting his body on edge.

But then, this was a woman who had shot a man and ran away to live on an outlaw island. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised by _anything_ she does.

A pang ached low in his belly as she touched him, a sharp reminder that he’d been without a woman for a _very_ long voyage at sea, and this was _Lizzy._ Elizabeth. _Miss Swann_. He’d dreamed and daydreamed of her more times than he could count, even though he’d never really expected to see her again. It was easier that way, to think of her without fear of disappointment. She could be anything he wanted her to be in his dreams.

He never could have dreamed _this,_ but so far he found that he liked it.

This reunion felt remarkably like fate, and Jack had learned not to take such coincidences in life for granted.

“Perhaps here,” she said, finally finding a bare patch upon his back. She touched his coppery skin lightly and this time Jack could not suppress a groan. Perhaps her stabbing a needle into him repeatedly would cure this ailment, he thought self derisively. But _maybe_ that could wait.

“Good. Well, that’s settled.”

With a flourish Jack sat down in her chair, folding his hands expectedly upon his knee. “ _Your_ turn.”

Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyebrows raised high, a hand upon her hip. There was a knee jerk impulse in her to say something indignant. Something haughty, something trite. Something the old Lady Elizabeth Swann would have said to a pirate looking at her as though he might like to eat her up. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she found that such pretense seemed quite pointless now.

“I’m not sure I should make this so easy for you, Jack Sparrow,” she said cautiously, gnawing upon her lower lip. This was a new game for her, and though it was positively thrilling she feared she didn’t exactly know all the rules.

Jack spread his hands with a small smile, black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why not, love?” he asked quietly, his gaze softening. “Who’s t’say nay, now?”

Elizabeth took his meaning, all too well. There was no one left from her old life to tell her otherwise. Everyone whose opinion she might have cared for died, or she’d left behind. It was funny that after so long living in exile, only _now_ did she begin to truly feel free.

Her courage bolstered, she took a cautious step towards Jack, and then another. She half expected him to grab her up when she was within arm’s reach, but he just sat quietly, those dark eyes taking in every detail with alarming acuity. He was a _patient_ predator, she reckoned. A master of waiting for the _opportune moment._ The last thought brought a slow smile to her lips, and she turned, giving Jack her back in silent acquiescence.

Elizabeth shivered as slowly he lifted her shirttails, revealing the mermaid that curled upon her lower back and hip little by little. A long silence stretched between them, in which Elizabeth’s bravery spiraled down into anxiousness. She looked over her shoulder to find Jack transfixed by her artwork, admiring the composition of the siren’s curves and the skull in her hand, how its position complemented the swirl of her hair, and the ship sailing bravely away upon its golden waves.

Truth be told, Elizabeth’s own curves were just as enchanting, and she gasped but did not balk as he slowly pulled down the waistband of her breeches a little, revealing the tail of the siren. “Beautiful,” he complemented, his voice husky. Yet despite his declaration, he shook his head. “Poisonous flowers and murderous mermaids, love? A woman whose beauty lures men to ruin, eh?”

She hung her head.

As usual, Jack could see right to the heart of the matter.

“Isn’t it so, Jack?” she asked softly, her fingers pressed to her throat.

“No,” he answered gruffly, and she gasped as he pressed his lips to the curve of her back, directly over the skull. He spoke over her skin, his hands upon her hips pulling her to him. “Will was a fool and so was Norrington and _none_ of that was your fault, _savvy?_ ”

There was a hint of anger in Jack’s voice she didn’t exactly understand. He _himself_ didn’t exactly understand, but could his heart have given it voice, it would have said _bloody stupid whelp and the Commodore too, they should have protected her, not sent her into ruin._ But she was the strong one, and there was a hardness in her eyes now that was as alluring as it was heartbreaking. Perhaps she thought she looked like a wild creature, but Jack found she resembled nothing less than a pirate’s sauciest dream.

Elizabeth pressed her lips, suddenly feeling vulnerable all over again. Her gaze travelled to his mouth of its own will. She ached inside with loneliness, and had anyone but Jack sat before her she might have been able to resist. She blamed the low candle light, that rendered him exotic and beautiful, almost sinister for all his sharp angles and mane of black hair. She blamed the rum. She blamed—no one but herself, when she stepped between his legs, and stooped to press her lips to his.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gasp! Two chapters in one week? Lol. I couldn’t stop writing, had to at least get to the part where Jack makes an appearance! Haha. Hope you enjoyed! Your comments mean the world to me! :D


	3. Apology To No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. If you watch the show Black Sails a certain event here might seem a bit familiar, I can claim no credit. :) However, I don’t really envision that Charles Vane as this Charles Vane. (He was a real historical character, don’t you know). Maybe closer to the CV of Matt Tomerlin’s Scarlett Devil series. Look him up on Amazon, his indie pirate books are AMAZING! Like, my favorite second only to POTC! They’re like, Game of Thrones only pirates. Ah!  
> 2\. I think most people here are way more net savvy than me. :) I've found some of you on Tumblr recently and that makes me so happy! If you're there, I'm there as apirateslifeforme123 , come find me!   
> 3\. Thank you for the kudos and comments! You made my weekend and I'm very excited about this fic!

**Chapter III: Apology to No One**

 

She was long out of practice in the business of kissing, but Jack did not seem to mind, immediately responding by wrapping his wiry arms around her, drawing her down into his lap. He kissed her slowly, then hard, his mouth exploring and demanding. Hungrily she took it all, needing this, needing _him_.

“I came here to find you, Jack,” she admitted, her voice ragged between kisses. “I can’t believe you’re actually _here_ now.” She cradled his face in her hands, her thumb tracing the swell of his bottom lip. Playfully he nibbled upon the pad of her thumb, winning a sigh of longing.

“Lizzy, had I known…” He didn’t know what he would have done, honestly. Taking responsibility for the well-being of others was certainly _not_ his forte. But he liked to think he would have…well he would have _something,_ damn it all!

“It’s alright, Jack. There was no way you could have known.” She laughed, though there was a bitter tinge to it. “I’m alright.”

He frowned a little, unsure if that was an entirely accurate assessment. His dark eyes cast about the small hovel, and he marveled that this island full of outlaws really let a beauty such as her live in peace. “Do ye really stay here all alone, Lizzy?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. His arms tightened around her of their own volition.

Elizabeth paused a long time, toying with a braid of his beard, before answering. “Aye, no one bothers me. Anymore.”

Jack pressed his lips, unsure he wanted to know, sensing a painful story behind those words. Committed, he pried quietly, “ _Anymore_?”

There was another long pause, before she answered again, “There was an incident, a little after Tom died. I made the mistake of feeling…secure in my surroundings. Three pirates reminded me why I should always have a weapon within reach.”

The inhabitants of the island had long accepted Lizzy as one of their own, and the crews who frequented the island also mostly treated her with respect, with regard to Tom’s memory as much as for Lizzy herself. But one night a crew of new arrivals pulled into port, rough men who sailed under a captain named Graves. Three of them wandered in wanting ink, and at finding the beautiful tattooist, decided they would take much more.

Jack Rackham had found her the next morning, half dead upon the floor, her little shack torn to pieces by the rowdy drunks. He’d carried her to Madame Dubois’ establishment, who knew how to treat a woman who had received such tender mercies from a sadistic suitor. Madame and her girls nursed Elizabeth back to health, and though her body healed, something inside her heart lay broken and black once more.

Not long after the incident the three pirates, who had been stupid enough to brag about having a run at that snooty piece who called herself a tattooist, were found hanging dead in the square, beaten bloody, severed privates stuffed in their mouths. Each had a sign about their necks that read _I CROSSED CHARLES VANE._

Word spread fast, and everyone knew who they’d really crossed. From thereon no one dared bother Lizzy again.

“Charles Vane exacted my vengeance. No one has dared bother me again,” she said sparingly, her voice detached. She blocked out thoughts of that terrible night, refused to remember their rough hands, foul mouths, and the way they’d delighted in hurting her.

Still, she would never allow herself such foolish carelessness again. Always, she had a gully in her boot, and a loaded pistol nearby. Weapons were hidden everywhere in her hut now.

“Christ, love. I’m sorry. So bloody sorry.”

She read the horror in his eyes, and the anger. A part of her wished he wouldn’t pity her, wouldn’t empathize for her. It made her… _feel_ things she’d rather leave buried. In defense of her own sanity she simply shrugged. She’d lived. It was over. She saw those awful men in her nightmares, but in the daytime she chose not to give them any further thought. That was her choice she could make. “I’m still here,” she said, finding it felt rather nice to rest her head on Jack’s shoulder. “They’re _not_.”

Jack nodded, resting his chin upon the top of her head. “Are you and Charles Vane…then?” he found himself asking before he could stop himself, finding a curious black churning in his stomach that he belatedly identified as jealousy.

A small knowing smile curled Elizabeth’s lips, expanding upon the _dot dot dot_ in his inquiry, and somehow gratified that Jack cared to know of her liaisons upon the island. “I kissed him once,” she admitted, her smile widening as Jack rolled his eyes.

Quickly he cradled her face in his rough hand and pressed his lips to hers once more, a melting kiss that curled her toes, a small moan escaping her. “There, now _I’ve_ kissed you _twice,_ ” he declared, regarding her with narrowed eyes down the straight line of his rather aristocratic nose.

Elizabeth laughed, amused by the childish sentiment. “And? Thus staking your claim?” she asked, and almost immediately regretted voicing such a thing aloud.

But Jack did not balk, a small smile curling his perfect lips. “Perhaps a third kiss should be in order for that.” Slowly he descended, kissing Elizabeth gently. She responded like a flower greeting the morning sun, opening beneath his skillful mouth and caresses. No one had touched her with such care since Will, and even he had not been able to stoke such a _fire_ in her belly with just a kiss. She sighed as his mouth dragged the line of her jaw, hot kisses planted upon her throat and the bend of her collar.

Until this moment she did not even realize how _lonely_ she was here, living the life of a nun on an island built on debauchery. Even at times when she had been interested in male company, she’d never felt secure enough to indulge. Despite Charles Vane’s offerings and the pains he took to avenge her honor, he made her uneasy. Only now, here with Jack, did she finally feel _safe_ , as though she’d been holding her breath all these long years and could at last take a gasp of air.

When his rough hand moved to cup her breast through her wrappings he paused, curious if she would protest. His thumb brushed over her nipple, hard as a pebble beneath the layers of linen, sending a bolt of desire through her core. Voice laden with longing, she simply sighed, her fingers curling in the mass of his dark hair. Lightly, she’d begun to tremble, and didn’t know how to stop. She felt something hard pressing against her hip through Jack’s breeches. Experimentally she rubbed herself against it, curious, testing, winning an almost _pained_ groan from Jack. His wiry arms tightened around her, and a thrill of triumph unfurled in her heart.

Suddenly he stood with her in his arms, easily carrying her to the chaise lounge. She looked to him inquisitively as he lay her down, kneeling beside the long chair. “Have you ever been with a man, love, besides…”

 _The incident,_ hung unsaid in the air.

“Once,” she admitted. “With Will. A lifetime ago.” It seemed so long ago she could hardly remember how it all went. The _feeling_ of it, perhaps. Her sweet fiancé had hurt her, but somehow still managed to convey all his love in their youthful experiment with physical pleasure. _That_ had been precious, she reckoned. That was something she tried _not_ to remember, or else it would tear her asunder inside.

Jack nodded with understanding. He was sure the boy had been sweet and meant well, as surely as he would have bet his last doubloon that young William must have fumbled and probably left her wanting. He doubted she even knew _why_ this act was supposed to be so great, between men and women. Did she know that she had the power to be an instrument of that ultimate pleasure too?

With a small smirk he began to unlace her breeches, drawing them down her svelte hips and legs. “Jack?” she gasped, sitting up straight as he spread her legs, and pressed tender kisses to her inner thigh.

“Lay back, love. You’ll like this, I promise.”

When his lips touched her _there_ she sighed again, “ _Oh Jack,”_ for an entirely different reason. She realized he’d not even asked her permission, inquired if he might…he just _took_ her, made her pliable with hands and lips, formed her like clay—as though he already _knew_ exactly what she wanted. Perhaps he did. It didn’t matter, she realized. Either way, she didn’t mind. Jack was here now, and she didn’t mind _one bit_.

With clever lips and tongue Jack laved the pink pearl of her center, sliding long fingers inside her, until Elizabeth came with a wanton cry, her body arched tight as a bow. Bewildered, embarrassed, _relieved,_ she covered her face with her hands until her breathing returned to normal, until the room stopped _spinning_ like a dervish. “ _Oh God._ How…what…”

She looked down her body to see Jack smiling lazily up at her, his cheek resting against her thigh. “ _That’s_ how Jack Sparrow stakes a claim,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

“I’ve never felt _anything_ like that before,” she sighed, her hands roaming Jack’s body hungrily as he crawled above her. She explored his wiry torso and muscular arms, fingers curious, ravenous to memorize all his lines.

“You’ve never touched yourself, Lizzy, on a long and lonely night?”

“Not to _that_ end,” she admitted, laughing shakily.

His hands bunched in her shirt, lifting it above her head. She sat up on elbows, allowing access to the linen wrappings that bound her breasts. When he freed them Jack bent down to take one in his mouth hungrily, pulling the most unladylike sounds from deep in her throat. Her head rocked back to hang between her shoulders, her hair spilling down the side of the chaise to the floor.

“You are so bloody beautiful,” rasped Jack against her skin. Perhaps she had tattoos and scars of her own now, but she was still soft and pale in places where the sun never touched, and he wanted to taste her _everywhere_.

“I thought you might find me rather…roughened, now, Jack.”

“Never minded your rough edges, Lizzy girl,” said the pirate, his mouth hot upon her chest. “Don’t mind that they’re a little more visible now.”

She was so relieved she could have cried. She hadn’t even known she’d carried this fear inside her, until just now, for she’d buried it and everything else _so_ deep as a matter of pure survival. With Jack there with her a hint of unexpected color entered her world, a world that had only previously been drawn in black and gray. She _wanted_ color, _all the colors._ She wanted _life,_ and Jack Sparrow was nothing if not the very embodiment of living to the fullest.

Impatiently she pulled at the laces of his breeches, pushing the annoying garment down his hips. He kicked himself free, and Jack’s newly bared body flowed against hers like water, his manhood seeking her center. He held her close with an arm about her shoulders, his tip slowly sliding past her entrance. When he was sheathed completely a wanton groan escaped her lips, her cheek pressed to his.

“Oh, you wanted that, didn’t you, love?” he taunted, nipping her shoulder lightly. _As if he didn’t_ , he derided himself. She was so tight and wet that she made him positively light headed, as though he’d imbibed a great deal of rum _very_ fast, or inhaled too deeply of a hookah. He paused, steadying his breathing, trying not to come immediately like a randy young lad amidst his first go with a woman.

Elizabeth covered her face with embarrassment, emitting a shaky sigh. “Yes,” she admitted. “God _yes_. You must find me _ridiculous_.” When she tried to look away Jack captured her face in his hands, turning her eyes back to his.

“Don’t be embarrassed on my account. I think you’re gorgeous, and never more so than when you’re wild and free.” Both of them were transported back to that desert island, reliving the mad ecstasy of running around that bonfire like savages, singing at the top of their lungs.

Slowly he began to move inside her, and Elizabeth’s eyes slipped closed with pleasure. “You’re an outlaw living on a pirate island now,” he went on, his hips rolling against hers in the most delicious way. “It can take a while to shed the moral conditioning of those self-righteous gits that sent us into exile. But the fact is, you can enjoy a good fuck with apology to no one, darlin’.” He gauged her reaction to his language, watched as shock and titillation surfaced on her expression.

Finally, a smile spread upon those maddeningly full lips. “You talk a lot, Jack,” she teased him.

He returned her smile, though there was something decidedly wolfish in it. “That I do, dearie. But isn’t that part of the fun?” He thrust within her, causing her to tilt her head back with a groan. “Would you like to know how long I’ve wanted you, Lizzy? I’ve thought of what it would be like to do _this_ all the way from Port Royal to Singapore.” Jack gripped her thigh in his strong hand, pulling her leg up over his hip. The angle of their juncture changed, deepened, sharpening their pleasure. Elizabeth’s nails dug into his back.

“Let me guess,” she rasped, hardly fathoming how either of them could form a clear thought. “The island?”

“Nay, darlin’. The day I pulled you from the bottom of the harbor, and split you open like a clam shell on the dock to reveal the treasure inside. I could see _everything_ through that wet white chemise of yours. Your proud tits tipped with these pert pink nipples.” He ducked to kiss the appendages in question, nibbling lightly in a way that sent jolts of pleasure straight to her loins. “Your mermaid curves and the shadow of this sweet little quim. Oh, darlin’ how I _wanted_ you then.”

She found he was right, that his words cast some sort of spell upon her, stoking the fire in her loins as surely as his body within hers. The lessons she had to learn, and so quickly! But she felt comfortable with Jack as her tutor. She felt brazen, and most of all?

She felt _free._

“I think about our island all the time, Jack,” she said, hardly recognizing her voice so husky with desire. “I wanted…I didn’t even _know_ what I wanted. I wanted you to _show_ me, and I was so terrified that you would. I was terrified that I would throw my whole future away, just for a night of pleasure with a legend of a pirate who I’d longed to meet since I was a little girl. I burned the rum to save us, but mostly to save myself,” she admitted.

“I know, love.” He kissed her deeply, his senses all a-jumble.

This was _not_ how he’d expected the evening to go, he reckoned with a small smile hidden against the curve of her shoulder. He’d expected a typical night of revelry in port. A new tattoo, then rum, gambling, and a little company of the softer variety. Not even Jack Sparrow could have imagined he would make love with an outlaw princess instead.

“You knew?”

“Aye, I knew. I was disappointed about the rum. I was more disappointed that I wouldn’t have you to me’self just one more night. You foiled all my plans, you tricky wench.”

“Oh Jack.” She buried her face in the bend of his neck, and they lost themselves in the motion of their lovemaking, bodies straining, seeking, joining. He took her carefully, and Elizabeth knew exactly why, knew he didn’t want to scare her after her last experience with men. It warmed her heart, thawed something long frozen inside her, that he thought she needed protecting. And yet she wanted _all_ of Jack. Wanted to feel him wild and free, as undone as she herself. “It’s alright,” she whispered in his ear, moaning as he thrust deep inside her. “I won’t break, I promise. I _want_ you.”

He kissed her again, grateful for her permission, impressed by her courage. “I won’t hurt you, love,” he promised, thrusting faster, enchanted by the expression of complete abandon upon her fine features.

“I know.” She laughed, and it was a sound filled with joy, seasoned with desire. “I trust you.” He was the only man left in the world that she trusted, she realized, and thought Jack might know it too by the way his expression softened.

Jack moved against her more quickly, fanning the flame of that slow-match burn deep in her loins. With long legs locked about his hips they found a rhythm between them, steady as the waves outside her window. In time he made her come with such fury that flashes of color and light danced before her eyes. The clenching of her quim pushed him towards the edge, and Jack’s release followed not long after, punctuated by a few curses that might have caused Elizabeth to blush just an hour ago. He barely managed to spill himself upon her belly, rather than deep inside her channel.

 _That_ could be a complication he _really_ was not equipped to handle, he reckoned. He regained his breath with his forehead pressed to hers, and for a little while there was nothing in the world but their pressed bodies and blissful contentment.

The pair lounged in a sweaty tangle of limbs, satisfied smiles curling both their mouths. “Good thing you picked the chaise for this tryst,” said Elizabeth lightly, giddy with joy, exhausted by their lovemaking. “I’m not sure the bed could have withstood _that_.”

Jack threw an appraising glance towards the piece of furniture in question, a mischievous smile flashing gold. “We’ll see about that, love.”

Her laughter was muffled by his mouth upon hers, and as he kissed her silly Elizabeth thought _this has been the best night of my life._

 


	4. A Certain Sort

** CHAPTER IV: A Certain Sort **

Out of habit, Jack woke with the first rays of dawn filtering through the single window of the little shack. Light caressed the sleeping woman beside him like a halo, gilding her like an Italian renaissance angel, making her seem to glow from within.

They curled upon the chaise together; last night they had in fact managed to break the rickety rope bed, and did so with much joy and laughter before retreating back to the chaise lounge.

He knew there was something cosmically profound afoot when a man and a woman made love the way they had the night before. He’d succumbed to such madness once as a very young man, and that doe-eyed girl had broken his heart in two, marrying another while he was at sea. After that, on the rare occasion this particular magic had occurred in his long and strange life, Jack had run from it like a tomcat with his tail on fire, _always_ certain to vacate her bed before the morning found them.

 _You know better than this,_ he thought to himself, looking down at the sleeping Lizzy. _If ye stay, this **will** hurt. Her. You. Both, in no particular quantity or order. _

Ignoring his own very good and hard won advice, Jack pulled her warm body closer, and fell back into a contented sleep.

 

XXX

 

The second time Jack awoke the bed was empty, and a surprising jolt of panic shot through him. He sat up and looked about frantically, finding the shack empty.

Just then the door creaked open, and in tiptoed Elizabeth with a mango and a bunch of bananas upon a pewter trencher. She smiled brightly when she saw Jack was awake, and went to sit beside him on the chaise. “Breakfast?” she offered, producing a rather sinister blade from beneath the cushions.

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “That been there this whole time, love?”

She shrugged with a small smile, the shoulder of her wrapper falling down a little. Immediately Jack wanted to press lips to her bared skin, to mark it as his own again this fine Caribbean morning.

“I told you I learned my lesson.” She expertly sliced away a sliver of mango, offering the sweet fruit to Jack. He took it between his lips, and the proffered digits besides, nibbling the pads of her fingers.

“I have a lesson of my own in mind for ye,” he confessed, eyeing the syrupy sweet fruit, and the svelte young body that was revealed by a gape in her wrapper. “Lay back, love,” he said, taking the fruit and the knife.

Giggling, Elizabeth let Jack arrange her upon the chaise, surrendering to his hands and sighing as his clever mouth followed everywhere he placed a slice of sun-ripened mango upon her bare skin.

 

XXX

 

Much later the lovers woke again to the decidedly harsher light of the afternoon sun shining in upon them. Jack opened one eye, roused by the caress of her fingers upon his cheek. “You look so innocent when you’re asleep,” she whispered.

“Slander and calumny,” he grumbled sleepily, stealing a kiss. His stomach growled as if in agreeance. “I believe you have sapped me of all my energy, sweet siren. What say you to a real bite to eat?”

Elizabeth looked about the shack, grimacing with apology. “I fear I haven’t much to offer you here, Jack.”

“No worries, love. Perhaps I may tempt you with a hot meal? Does Mrs. Drake still make the best turtle soup on the island?”

“I fear I wouldn’t know,” she confessed. “I’m not of the habit to eat out.”

Elizabeth mostly lived on fruit, truth be told, because she could just walk out the door and collect it, and fish when she went out in the boat. Any other meat was an immense extravagance.

Jack offered a small smile, as though he understood all too well. “Then let’s find out, eh?” He looked about the small room with a bewildered expression, impressed by the mayhem they seemed to have unleashed upon the small space around them. “Now, where the devil are my trousers?”

Elizabeth laughed, producing the garment in question from under the chaise. When he reached for the pants she teased him, holding them hostage for a kiss. His lips upon hers were a balm for her soul, and she dared hope this happiness could last _just a little_ longer.

Hungrily he paused to watch her dress, appreciating the view of her bared body in the sunlight. Her tattoos stood out in stark contrast against her fair skin, a fiercer vanity than silks or baubles could ever achieve, a story written in ink beneath her skin that only those of a certain sort could read.

A sort like _them._

Misunderstood outsiders, exiles from society, wanted men on the lam from the law. Jack marveled a little at the development that they were practically equals now, by way of social standing, at least. Once he’d tried to tell himself the only reason he hungered for her was because she was so _far_ from his reach, upon a lofty throne in the clouds while he lived his life in the mire below.

He realized now that _class_ had nothing to do with it; in silk or burlap, Jack Sparrow _wanted_ Elizabeth Swann.

As she laced her breeches he clucked his tongue teasingly, shaking his head.

“What, you don’t approve of my boy’s britches?” she teased, sticking out her tongue playfully. The gesture made him want to claim said appendage for his own again, and _soon._

“Nay love. Should be a dress or nothing at all,” he teased back.

Elizabeth’s smile dampered a bit as she thought about dresses, and what they had meant to her when she wore them. Pretty, yes, delightfully feminine, and it had been fun to turn every head in a room when she walked into it. A woman held a certain power when she looked well, though it was a limited power, and usually not actually terribly useful. Dresses were oh so _cumbersome_. You could not run in one easily, you could not climb. You could not fight. Dresses and corsets were an _excellent_ way to keep women fettered, and she suspected it was the design of men all along. Frowning a little, Elizabeth picked up her sword belt, making to buckle the baldric over her chest. She noticed Jack eyeing the blade, a troubled look upon his handsome visage.

The atmosphere in the little room had decidedly changed.

Finally he spoke, his tone careful, “Have I offended you, Elizabeth?”

She looked down to fuss with her sword, making sure it hung _just so,_ perfect for a cross body draw. Will had taught her how to use it, but it would do her no good if she couldn’t get it out from the scabbard in time.

She shook her head too quickly, her eyes cast down. “It’s not for _you,_ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, just… _I’ll_ be with you.”

_I’ll protect you._

_You don’t have to be afraid anymore._

He didn’t dare say it a loud, because he wasn’t sure it was actually true. Jack didn’t know where the devil this impulse was coming from; he wasn’t exactly in the habit of taking responsibility for someone else’s well-being, especially not a woman’s. And yet he thought of what she’d said the night before.

_I came here to find you._

And he hadn’t been here, and she’d been _hurt…_ His heart ached at the thought of how she’d been hurt by those men, the type of pirates that as far as he was concerned, could queue to the gallows all day long.

Jack realized he felt like he _owed_ her, no matter how misplaced the feeling, and through no demand of her own. He wanted to do _something_ that would give her a small piece of her old life back, even if it was something so seemingly mundane as being able to walk down the street without being armed to the gills.

Elizabeth’s expression softened as she realized what Jack meant to offer her, even if only a little. He did not want to render her helpless; he wanted her to know she would be safe. She realized she’d forgotten what that felt like.

_Safe._

It seemed an elusive word, at best. Untrustworthy. A desert mirage. And yet… _Jack was here,_ and she wanted to believe in him. It was dangerous _how much_ she wanted to believe in him.

“I never leave here without it,” she explained, her tone soft once more. “After those men… _attacked_ me, I simply _can’t,_ Jack _._ I won’t put the burden of my safety completely on your shoulders. But to walk about with _you_ at my side…it will be a fine thing indeed.” Elizabeth smiled, and the tension in the room broke, the dark clouds between them evaporating immediately.

Jack found that he liked this even better; he liked it that Lizzy wasn’t afraid to stand upon her own two feet, and it was by far the better solution for the both of them. Life here had taught her more than a few hard lessons of the world, and he was sorry for the way she’d learned them, but he was decidedly _unsorry_ that she was here now.

Jack moved to stand before her, claiming her gaze once more with a finger hooked beneath her chin. “I only meant that you look very _pretty_ in a dress, darlin’. But this is just fine too.”

Elizabeth sighed, closing her eyes to the onyx gaze that seemed to see straight into her soul. “ _Pretty_ is a thing I’ve not strived for in years, Jack.” She looked down at herself, her vest and shirt, her breeches, boots and sword at her side. “I know I’m not, like _this_.”

Jack laughed at the thought, his sudden mirth startling her. “You’re bloody beautiful in a dress, breeches, or nothing at all, Lizzy,” he assured her. “Can’t hide that. It’s what you are, darlin’.”

A wry little smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, a blooming warmth in her chest in a place that had been cold and barren for _so long._ “But a corset and frock certainly _don’t hurt_ my appearance, do they?” she teased, and Jack’s mouth twisted as he attempted to hide his opinion on the matter. She laughed a little at his obvious discomfort, unwilling to incur her wrath for telling the truth. “Perhaps I’ll wear one for you sometime, then,” she offered, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You may truss me in feminine finery like a Christmas goose, so long as you promise to take me out of it again.”

“Now that’s a promise I can keep.” He turned, capturing her mouth in a most distracting kiss, making her forget everything but the need to slide her fingers into his thick hair, holding him to her. His rough hands found their way beneath her shirt once more, palming the curves of her waist as he pulled her against him. “Bloody hell,” he swore between kisses, but not as though he really meant it. “I could happily starve to death, so long as I did it while kissing you, darlin’,” he purred.

“I’m willing to try subsisting on your kisses,” she agreed, sighing as his mouth travelled down the length of her neck.

His hands travelled higher, and this time he was starkly aware that he could count every single one of her ribs. She’d always been slender, but this was _too much._ “Come on, love. Let’s get some food in us, eh? Then I’m all for wiling away the day immersed in happy sin with you.”

She wondered if he _meant_ to reference Shakespeare to her, and by his mischievous smile she suspected it in fact was the case. So Jack was well-read, and she really shouldn’t have been surprised.

Fingers laced in an inseparable weave, Elizabeth and Jack set out for the tavern where Mrs. Drake peddled her famed turtle soup. Elizabeth lifted her face to the sea breeze as they walked; the sun was warm on her face, the birds sang in the trees, and at last she had Captain Jack Sparrow beside her.

It was a fine day indeed.

Neither of the lovers noticed a rather incensed Captain Kit Vane watching their exit from behind a palm tree.

 

XXX

 

Stuffed to the gills with soup, fresh baked bread, and a fair measure of dark rum, Jack and Lizzy lounged on their bench in the back corner. “What now, eh me Lizzy girl?” asked Jack, stroking her hair in a way that caused a happy shudder to march down her spine. “The day is ours, and we can do anything you like. My treat.”

Elizabeth gnawed upon her lip, biting down on the knee-jerk impulse to insist that she pay her own way, and that she didn’t _need_ his charity. By the way he looked down upon her, tenderness shining in his polished mahogany eyes, she realized it was not charity at all, but that he wanted to give her a _gift_.

Once upon a time she’d thought nothing of a man wanting to bestow some favor upon her. She was the Governor’s daughter, and it happened all the time. And yet now she cherished this sentiment from Jack, perhaps more than any actual _thing_ he could possibly procure for her.

“You know what I would _really_ like?” she asked, leaning back against the curve of his shoulder.

“Name it, darlin’.” His lips grazed her temple, pulling a gentle smile from her lips.

“A hot bath. For the both of us.”

Jack’s lips twisted in a wry half smile. “Tryin’ to clean me up already? That didn’t take long.”

Elizabeth laughed, a rare sound so filled with joy that it’s clear high notes _surprised_ her. “Fine, a bath just for _me_ then, though you’re welcome to watch,” she answered saucily, winning a low chuckle from her pirate captain. He nibbled upon her ear, causing her insides to positively melt, her body softening against his.

“A bath it is then. Though I think there’s only one place on this island with a tub that can accommodate the two of us, and that is in the establishment of Madame Dubois.”

He eyed her curiously, wondering if she would balk at the notion of going to the brothel. Lizzy, however, was not frightened by the prospect in the least. Madame’s had once been a haven to her, a refuge where she’d been allowed to heal, a sanctuary of women on this island filled with rough men.

“I think you’re right,” she piped cheerfully. “Do you suppose she will rent it out to us?”

Jack laughed with delight, tossing a few coins down on the table. “I think renting the tub will be the most _innocent_ transaction that fine lady has ever taken part in. What _we_ plan to do with it, however, is a whole other matter.”

Lizzy moaned as Jack captured her mouth in a kiss filled with wicked promise, her fingers tangled in his mass of raven’s wing hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Thank you everyone for your kind comments last round! They really made my day, and make posting stories here ever so fun! Hope you all have a grand weekend!


	5. Nymph & Satyr

Lizzy and Jack watched from a loveseat as a trail of Madame’s girls walked in with pot after pot of piping hot water to fill the tub. Each exited with a giggle and a skip in their step, shooting shy glances at the waiting couple, the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow and the unlikely female tattooist Elizabeth Swann. He paid them all a charming gold-glinting smile, ever the ladies’ man, though his arm remained snugly slung about Lizzy’s shoulders. Some of them he knew _quite_ well, and _all_ knew him by reputation.

Elizabeth remembered the way the girls spoke of Jack, the short time she’d spent under this very roof recovering from her attack. Most of the girls had treated her like a sister, gossiping like hens and giggling, glad to have someone new to tell their stories too. When Sparrow’s name came up everyone exchanged sly glances, fanning themselves to alleviate the sudden heat of a blush. He was always _sweet,_ they’d said, even when he was wicked. Always full of mischief, but never _mean_ , and he was always happy to give as good as he got. It was a rare customer indeed who proved so generous to a woman on _this_ island.

And now, Elizabeth marveled, _for at least a little while,_ it seemed Jack was _hers._

When at last the massive copper tub was filled to the brink with hot water, the last girl exiting the room with a shy little laugh and a saucy call of “Enjoy!”, Jack drew Lizzy to her feet.

“Come now, love. Let us start with you, because I dare say the moment my big toe touches that water it will turn _black._ ”

Elizabeth laughed, sighing as his clever fingers made quick work of the buttons of her vest and shirt, then the ties of her breeches. “I don’t think your person is _that_ soiled, Captain Sparrow.”

“You may be surprised, Lizzy darlin’. You may be surprised.”

He led her to the tub, handing her in with a gallant gesture that would have almost seemed _proper,_ had she not been nude as the day she was born. The most delicious shudder overcame her as she slipped down into the water, a pleasure she’d so missed in her exile. In fact, regular baths might have been the thing she missed _most_ from her time in polite society.

“ _Oh_ ,” she sighed, leaning back, and Jack’s eyes came positively _alight_ as he beheld her pleasure. Hungrily she watched as he removed his effects, his vest, and shirt, then even his breeches and boots, baring his sun-browned figure from head to toe. He was like a statue carved of fine mahogany and jet, she marveled, less sinister in daylight, perhaps, but no less magnificent.

She watched with curiosity as he placed their clothing outside the door, a question in her eyes he answered with, “They could use a fair cleaning too, I reckon’. Girls should have them back to us fresh and dry by the time we’re done.”

Elizabeth could not suppress a smile. “Are we to stay in here _that_ long, Jack?”

He looked between her in the tub and the rather large carved wood bed upon the opposite wall. “I don’t think it will be hard to while away the time,” he answered with confidence, a jet of anticipation shooting through her with just the _suggestion._

She hoped he would change his mind and slip into the water with her, share this simple but immense gift he had bestowed upon her. She didn’t know what he had paid for the privilege of using the best room of the brothel and Madame’s tub, but she had seemed extremely pleased at the conclusion of the negotiation.

Curiously, she watched as he picked up the bar of creamy coconut milk infused soap, a coveted thing on the island for which Madame was most noted. “Let me be your harem boy, love,” he said with a gold-glinting smile. “Your eunuch, if you will—” His gaze darkened as he looked down upon her, lust and something _else_ evident in his eyes. “If just for a little while.”

She offered no protest as he knelt beside her, lathering the soap in a sponge and sweeping it over her body, washing away her hard-won Tortuga filth. He followed this by kneading the sore muscles of her neck and shoulders with slick but strong sailor’s hands. “ _Oh Jack,”_ she sighed, leaning back against his shoulder. “You have no idea how…”

_How good it felt._

_How much she **needed** him._

For some reason she could not bring herself to say it, suddenly fearful of giving _it_ a name.

“I might, love, I might,” he sighed against the shell of her ear, soap-slicked fingers trailing to her breasts. Expertly he teased her nipples until they stood as rosy mountain peaks, gooseflesh emitting all over her body, an ache of wanting coiled tight in her womb. Knowing all too well, his touch travelled there next, one hand still kneading her breast, the other sliding down her center until he found the warmth between her legs.

Her thighs clenched upon his hand as he explored her, clever fingers stroking her sex _just so._ With fingers alone he took her to the edge of madness, her body arched back against his, water sloshing to the floor. “ _Please_ ,” she begged, and he took mercy upon her, setting her free to the wild-beyond, a few seconds of absolute Elysium bestowed by his clever touch. He whispered in her ear as she came back to him, a litany of sweet nothings and soft declarations, promises of further golden sins to come.

If she was not careful, she could have even mistaken them for words of _love._

Wet hair stuck to her face, she let loose a shaky breath, catching Jack’s lips with her own. “Join me,” she whispered, hoping her voice did not sound so desperate as she felt. He did it gladly, and the pirate could not suppress his own sigh of pleasure for the sluicing warm water engulfing him to the chest. The naked young thing who soon perched atop him did not hurt either. “What an unconvincing eunuch you make, Jack” she teased, rocking hips against his swollen manhood. He groaned into her hair, pulling her into a kiss that lit her on fire once more.

“I suppose no sultan would tolerate his harem girls being manhandled as such, though I thoroughly enjoyed it,” he jested, smiling like a wolf as he pulled her closer.

“My turn to bathe you,” she insisted, reaching for the soapy sponge. “I’m not sure I would make for a good harem eunuch either. Perhaps a water nymph, attending the bath of the satyr who has finally caught her.”

Jack laughed, his smile just then very much resembling the mythological being in question. “A lucky satyr indeed, love, and a nymph _happily_ caught, I hope?” he sighed as she sponged his arms and chest, resting his head back against the rim of the tub.

“ _Quite_ happily. _Quite_ willingly,” she assured him. “Stand up,” she instructed with a sly little smile. “So that I may reach the rest of you.”

Curiosity dancing in his eyes, Jack did so, water streaming from his sea-chiseled form. Upon her knees, she lovingly learned the shape of his body again, long legs and torso, his muscles quivering beneath her touch. His manhood stood proudly at attention, and she could not keep her gaze from it, a hunger of her own burning deep in her belly. He watched wide-eyed with hope and surprise as her mouth descended upon him, her lips sealed tight around his girth.

“ _Oh Lizzy_ ,” he growled, steadying himself with hands upon her shoulders, his legs suddenly weak. He’d thought this was an activity they would work their way up to, but not one she would take on of her own volition.

Just _full_ of surprises, was his Lizzy girl.

Briefly she withdrew, and he stared down at her, fascinated by the sight of the head of his cock hovering upon her plump lips. She rolled those large doe eyes up to his, inviting huskily, “Tell me what you like, Jack,” before taking him fully into her mouth again, her hand cupping the velvety weight at his base. He guided her with a low chanting of encouraging words and his fingers gently pressed at the base of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair. It was not long before he attempted to tug her back, warning, “Tis enough, darlin’, I’m going to—”

With a throaty little laugh that vibrated against his shaft, she took him in her mouth to the hilt once more, and he could not stop himself from suddenly spilling inside her with a blinding rush of pleasure, a deep groan torn from his lips. When the last shuddering wave of his release ended she withdrew, wiping a bit of moisture from the corner of her mouth with a sly smile.

Shaking his head, Jack happily fell back down into the water, causing another wave to overtake the edge of the tub as he pulled her to him. “ _Who_ are _you_?” he marveled, the rest unsaid hanging in the air.

_Not the governor’s daughter._

_Not the girl who had called him a despicable pirate on a dock in Port Royal._

_Not the girl who had burned all the rum on their lonesome little island._

A lady would never dare.

Well, she wasn’t a lady anymore, and good riddance to the title.

Happily she settled back into his arms, pressing her lips to his in answer, taking _just a little revenge._

Jack didn’t mind in the least, smiling against her mouth as he drank her down like a fine Caribbean rum, the taste of her and himself mingled upon his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: We might stay in the brothel a few more chapters… any objections? ;) As ever, thank you for your comments, they really REALLY make my day!!! :)


	6. Masterpiece

# Chapter VI - Masterpiece

 

They dozed a little in each other’s arms, blissfully content, lulled by the warm water and the steady rhythm of beating hearts beneath seeking palms. Little by little Lizzy returned to the land of the living, taking the opportunity to explore Jack’s tattoos and scars with questing fingers. She traced the bullet holes upon his chest, a sensation akin to _pain_ clenching in her belly as she noticed _how close_ they were to his heart.

“What did you mean, Jack, last night, when you said _those who sent us into exile_? How did you become a pirate?”

He was quiet for a long time, completely still beneath her, for so long that she feared she made a grave mistake mentioning it. She cursed herself for a fool, for shattering the blissful calm of this pleasure-filled day. But when Jack’s voice came it was free of anger, and she sat fascinated as he told her a tale of a naïve young captain who was tasked by the East India Trading Company to take up commerce in human flesh, that captain’s rebellion, and the price he paid for being a decent human being.

Her fingers traced the P brand upon his forearm as he told her of Cutler Beckett’s little token of remembrance, and explored the veins of the burn scar upon his arm as he recounted the inferno that was made of his beloved ship, the Wicked Wench, and how he’d been aboard as it was set afire.

At the end of it she pressed her lips to the twin bullet scars upon his chest, as if she could will away the pain by force of her affection alone. “You’re a good man, Jack.”

His laughter was tinged with bitterness then, and he would not meet her eyes as he shook his head. “Hardly, love.”

“You set them free.”

After a pause he nodded, the trinkets of his hair tinkling. “That was good, at least. A good deed, but it doesn’t make me a good man. Best know that now, love.”

Elizabeth frowned, tracing the lines of his face, high cheekbones and plump lips. Without his beard she reckoned he would be almost _pretty_ , though she couldn’t imagine it. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she declared haughtily, and pressed her lips to his once more.

The saucy tattooist managed to rouse Captain Sparrow’s passions once more, and suddenly he stood, her lithe young body clutched in his wiry arms. Laughing and leaving a trail of water from the tub to the bed, the lovers sank down into the luxurious feather mattress, more stolen goods that graced the otherwise impoverished island of Tortuga. “Need you, darlin’. Need you like I’ve never—”

He cut himself off, thinking better of finishing _that_ sentence.

It ended with _needed anyone before,_ and it was information far too _damning_ to divulge at this stage of the game _._ Jack took her nipple between his lips, hoping to distract her from paying _any_ attention to his madman’s ravings. For surely only a madman would admit such a thing to a woman?

Elizabeth, however, dared think she knew what he meant, knew because she felt it herself—this mad reeling sensation, this ecstatic happy _ache_ , like fiery stardust pulsing through her veins. She was so star struck she couldn’t fathom what to say, only squealed with delight as he flipped her over, bending her over the bed. Questing fingers found her already slick with need and he moaned as he drove himself inside her, enchanted by her tight heat surrounding him. She cried out as he pushed into her body, so deep that their love-making teetered on the edge between pleasure and pain, so intense it was as though she could feel him all the way in her heart.

Was his ardor her reward for thinking him a good man? The implications eluded her, her mind a foggy golden haze of pleasure, her thoughts reduced to blinding impressions of pure sensation. Jack seemed to get ahold of himself, pausing to lick his fingers and circle that little nub of flesh between her legs that made the world _stop._ “ _Oh God,”_ she moaned, clutching the counterpane in her fingers.

“This is Tortuga, love. He ain’t here,” Jack jested, loving the way she came alive at his touch.

“God can go to the Devil,” she swore, moaning again as he slowed his pace for her, his length sliding in and out of her channel torturously slow. “ _You’re_ all I need, Jack Sparrow.”

Jack’s long torso leaned over her, his fingers of his free hand lacing with hers. “Say that again,” he groaned against her neck, nipping at her shoulder.

“I need you, Jack.”

He slowed a little more, and in protest she clenched upon him, _so close_ to completion she could have screamed. Jack growled, dizzy when she did _that_ just as he…

“ _Again_ ,” he whispered, giving her short shallow strokes, his hand speeding in tandem.

“ _You’re all I need_ ,” she chanted breathily, body straining for that shining peak. “ _All I need. All I_ — ”

She _broke_ , and her resulting scream of pleasure raised eyebrows even down in the common area of the brothel, whores and patrons alike impressed, curious, and slightly concerned for _just what_ was going on up there.

Jack followed soon behind, spending himself with a mighty groan upon the split of her bottom, his limbs trembling as he collapsed on top of her.

 

XXX

 

Later they woke in each other’s arms, cuddled beneath the covers in the massive soft bed, the sun hanging low upon the horizon. Somehow they had managed to fuck and sleep the whole day away, and Lizzy found this debauchery with Jack an utterly magnificent occupation. “ ‘Lo, Lizzy,” he greeted softly, kissing her forehead.

“Hello,” she answered, her voice raspy from earlier exertions. She cleared her throat, smiling at herself. “Well, I heard no knock, so I suppose no one suspected you murdered me.”

Jack laughed, gold flashing in the rich orange sunlight. “Love, I’m _Captain Jack Sparrow_. They knew _exactly_ what I was doing to you.”

Somehow after _all this,_ he managed to make her blush. Charmed, his laughter softened, a calloused finger lifting to trace her cheek. “I’ve dabbled in the art of corruption of the female creature, but I do think you will be my masterpiece, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth laughed shakily, leaning into his touch, finding she would _happily_ submit to his tutelage in _anything_ Jack Sparrow wanted to teach her. Lacing her fingers with his, she admitted, “I was a dead woman walking, before you strolled through my door, Jack. You bring such _life_ , everywhere you go. Thank you.” She kissed him, and usually Jack would have been _quite_ alarmed by the resulting flood of warmth that filled his chest. This time, he embraced it, letting it all wash over him, through him, until it settled like a golden light within his black little heart.

 _God be damned, indeed_ , he thought. Maybe this saucy little tattooist in his arms was the only holy sacrament he needed.

“I do believe me crew is meeting for drinks at the _Coq d’Or_ tonight, love. Would you care to come with me?”

Happy to be included, she nodded against his chest. “Yes, I would like that very much. Anyone I know still with you?”

“Gibbs, of course. Ana Maria. Cotton, Cotton’s parrot, Marty—”

“Cotton’s parrot goes out _drinking_?”

Jack chortled. “How else do you think Cotton manages to _order_ , love?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every time, but I really do mean it! Thank you everyone for reading and your kind comments, they really do make my day, and make writing this all the more fun!


	7. Old Friends, New Enemies

There was a knock on the door, and Jack rose from the bed to fetch a pile of now freshly laundered clothing. He could not actually _remember_ the last time he had clean clothes, and he could admit to himself, at least, that it was a rather nice luxury.

As they dressed there was another knock on the door. Curious, Elizabeth answered it to find one of Madame’s girls on the other side. She was a fire-haired lass named Grace who Elizabeth had befriended during her short stay. By the shy smile she paid Jack, Elizabeth reckoned he knew her too.

“Beggin yer pardon,” said Grace in a soft Irish brogue. “But I thought ye might fancy something a little more feminine, Lizzy.” Grace extended the bundle in her arms to reveal a pretty dress of floral calico. Elizabeth, however, recoiled as though the girl had presented a poisonous snake.

Again that uneasiness overcame Lizzy. _A dress._  A garment that made her pretty but oh-so-vulnerable.

Immediately Lizzy cast a suspicious glance towards Jack, curious if the pirate had arranged this too in his preference for more lady-like fashions. Jack held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, eyes wide. He certainly didn’t intend to take the blame for something he didn’t actually _do_.

Realizing she behaved like a fool, Elizabeth regained the space she’d retreated, fingering the fabric with an appreciative eye. “That’s very sweet of you, Grace, but where on earth would I put my sword?” she teased. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a big lacking in décolletage.” Lizzy glanced down at her small breasts with a self-deprecating smile.

She did not mention her daggers.

Or the small pistol in her pocket.

Grace put a hand on her hip, huffing, “Y’ve got _Jack_ wif ye now. Live a little, Lizzy. Ye can enjoy bein’ a lady again.”

Elizabeth cast a glance over at Jack, who now seemed rather amused by the exchange. “I am in good hands,” Elizabeth confirmed. “However, putting on skirts is neither necessary nor practical for me. I thank you for the gesture though.”

Grace sighed, narrowing her eyes. “Fine. Let me braid yer hair nice then, at least.” She pushed Lizzy towards the stool before a vanity, and in this Lizzy relented. 

XXX

 

By the time Elizabeth and Jack approached the _Coq d’Or_ it was dark, and Tortuga’s den of raucous earthly delights was in full swing. Several members of Jack’s crew had already occupied a large round table in the corner, and were raptly listening to one of Gibbs’ yarns over their tankards. They looked up to find their captain, and greeted him with a rum-fueled _hurrah._

“Evenin’, gents,” said Jack, smiling with a mouth full of gold. “Hope you don’t mind, I’ve brought an old friend along.”

Elizabeth peeked out from behind Jack, her fingers firmly laced in his.

There was a long silent pause as the crew appraised the new-comer, and then a wave of surprise as they realized _who_ stood beneath all the men’s clothing.

“Miss Swann?!” Gibbs exclaimed, alarm written in his expression. He looked between Jack and the Governor’s daughter, clearly wondering what scheme Jack had dreamed up to get _her_ in Tortuga.

Elizabeth doffed her hat. “Hello, Mr. Gibbs. Everyone.”

For a few more quiet seconds Elizabeth thought this would make for a very awkward evening indeed. But it was Ana Maria who raised a tankard with a welcoming smile. “Looks like she’s one of us now, boys!”

It tipped the scales in Elizabeth’s favor, and she was welcomed into their circle with embraces and pats on the back. Between drinks and songs Elizabeth gave an abbreviated account of how she’d come to reside on Tortuga, and laughed as she noted the relief on Gibbs’ face when he realized Jack actually had nothing to do with her exile to a pirate port.

Ana Maria was not shy, pulling up Elizabeth’s sleeves to admire her marks, and showing off her own. The two got on so well, chatting up a storm, that Jack was _almost_ jealous, and he tugged Elizabeth away to join him in a jig. The whirled like dervishes arm in arm, laughing and happily moving their feet to the rhythm of the frantic fiddle and mandola. The rum had started to take its toll, and Elizabeth leaned on Jack rather heavily, quite enamored of his steady form against her own.

The pirate captain did not seem to mind in the least, stealing kisses at every opportunity.

The lovers were so enamored of each other they failed to notice Kit Vane glowering from the opposite corner, until the pirate captain of the Ranger approached during a pause. “May I cut in?”

Immediately Jack’s hold upon Lizzy tightened, regarding the newcomer with thinly veiled hostility. “No, actually.”

Elizabeth, however, did not fail to notice the dangerous glint in Charles Vane’s eye, and once more she knew fear. Though Charles had been exceedingly nice to her, she’d always known something dark boiled beneath the surface. Now it seemed the mask was off, and the _last_ thing Elizabeth wanted was to cause a fight. Jack was many things, but a killer was not one of them. Unfortunately, Charles Vane was a man who took life as easily as breathing.

“It’s alright, Jack,” said Elizabeth, placing a staying hand over his heart. She could feel it beating wildly beneath her palm. “Charles is a friend.”

Though he was clearly unhappy about it, Jack bowed out with an exaggerated tip of his hat. “In that case, love, I can spare you for _one_ go-round.” His smile did not quite reach his eyes, and an unspoken challenge passed between the two pirates. Elizabeth might have rolled her eyes, had there not been such crackling tension in the air.

Charles lost no time in sweeping Elizabeth back onto the sawdust covered floor. Where just a moment ago she had loved the strength in Jack’s sailor’s hands upon her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the same in Vane’s paws was a threat. “You’ve made some new friends, I see,” said Charles, glancing to the crew of the Pearl.

“Old friends reacquainted, actually,” said Elizabeth. Vane raised an eyebrow, puzzled how she would know that lot from a time before Tortuga. She’d never told him the story of Barbossa, Jack, and the cursed Aztec gold. She found she wasn’t exactly in the mood to elaborate at that moment, however.

“So that’s who you’ve been waiting for all this time? _Jack Sparrow?_ ” He practically spat his rival’s name. “He’s the sorriest pirate in the Caribbean, and you pick _him_? I could trounce him with one hand tied behind my back.”

Elizabeth frowned at Charles’ assessment of Captain Sparrow.

 _Only if you could catch him,_ she thought, but did not say it aloud. Instead she voiced, “I think that’s hardly necessary.”

A half smile pulled at the corner of Charles’ mouth, rendering his handsome visage a sly mask of malicious intent. The dance ended, and Elizabeth attempted to extricate herself from Charles’ grasp. However, he held on, and the strength in those hands sent an uneasy chill down Elizabeth’s spine. “You’re quick to forget your real friends here, my lady,” he sighed theatrically, pressing a hand to his heart. “It pains me to be tossed aside like yesterday’s bath water.”

“I forget nothing, and I wasn’t aware I owed you anything, Captain Vane.”

The pirate laughed, a sound like glass grating on stone, tilting up her chin with a calloused finger. “We’ll balance our books yet, Elizabeth.” He released her so abruptly she stumbled, and it took every iota of self-control she possessed not to scramble back into Jack’s arms.

Instead she calmly walked back to their table, dropping down in a chair beside Jack. Immediately he slung his arm about her, pulling her in close. “Alright, love?”

“Perfectly fine,” she assured him, and though he didn’t entirely believe her, he understood she didn’t want to show weakness now. She was a smart girl, his Lizzy. Though everyone was smiling and laughing in the tavern, this was still a den full of predators.

With her head on his shoulder she listened to Gibbs finish one of his outlandish stories, and then the whole tavern commenced to singing along to the favorites the ensemble offered up with their fiddle and guitar. One was the bawdy shanty called _Hog Eyed Man,_ and with sly smiles they bellowed:

_He went to the shack where Sally did dwell_

_He knocked on her door_

_And he rung her bell…_

The last Jack delivered with a lascivious wink to Lizzy, pulling her in closer still. She tucked herself against Jack, enjoying the feeling of security under his wing and within the circle of warmth that was his crew.

Happily they drank and sang the rest of the night away.

 

XXX

 

Elizabeth woke with a pounding headache, tangled up with Jack upon the chaise lounge once more. She felt rather sick thanks to the copious amount of rum imbibed, and her opinion of the beverage as a vile drink cemented once more. Yet she could not help but smile as she rose to use the chamber pot, humming one of the songs from the night before under her breath.

 

_Sailors they get all the money_

_Soldiers they get none but brass_

_How I love my rollin’ sailor_

_Soldiers they can kiss my ass…_

 

The lyrics stuck out in her memory, but little else from the latter part of the evening.

What had they _done_ last night?

Somehow it seemed they had returned to her humble little abode, at least. She poured herself a glass of water, wincing as she swallowed. Even _that_ hurt her head.

Elizabeth had a curious ache upon her chest, and she pulled her shirt aside to assess the situation, expecting maybe a bruise from a drunken mishap.

She gasped as she found a fresh tattoo of a flying sparrow, just beneath her left collarbone.

_Oh._

At that moment Jack rose with a groan, also clutching his head. He was not wearing a shirt, and as he straightened Elizabeth saw he too bore new ink, the bold outline of a swan upon his right pectoral.

Jack followed her gaze, looking down at himself.

Elizabeth held her breath, waiting for a less than happy reaction that he was marked forever with her namesake. The seconds seemed to drag on for hours, as Jack considered his newest mark.

When at last he looked up, his full lips spread in a happy if not coy smile, Elizabeth felt like the sun broke the horizon in her heart. “Not bad needle work for a lass filled with that much rum,” he complimented. “Lines are nice and even. Well done, Lizzy.”

The breath she’d been holding slowly released from her lungs. “Then who did this?” she asked, pulling her shirt aside. Jack’s smile only widened, though when a similar fear that she might not be so pleased hit him his good humor dampened. “Err—I did. You don’t remember?”

She shook her head to the contrary. “No.”

Jack pressed his lips, crossing his fingers that she wouldn’t regret it. _Please don’t be angry._ Elizabeth appraised it again, impressed that it was not a lump of black squiggles, for as drunk as they both had been. “I like it.”

Jack’s own breath let out with a _whoosh,_ and she crossed the room to fill his arms so quickly her head spun, pressing her lips to his.

She knew better than to think this permanent mark meant _forever_ for the two of them _,_ but she was so glad to have something to always remember Jack by. Adventure and the sea would call, and he would leave. That was the way of things here on Tortuga. She pushed that inevitability from her pounding head, and enjoyed this present moment in his arms for all it was worth.

Curled up on the chaise once more, Jack shifted his long legs, his foot hanging off the end. “Think we could do with a bigger berth for us, Lizzy. Care to join me on the Pearl?”

Elizabeth groaned. “I don’t think I could stand the walk to the dock right now,” she admitted, feeling as though someone pounded an anvil in her head.

“Actually I meant…” Jack pressed his lips, unsure how to phrase his proposition without sounding like a besotted young boy. Perhaps it was something best saved for later. “Nevermind.” He closed his eyes, thinking five more hours of shut-eye with Lizzy in his arms _might_ cure his headache.

But Lizzy’s curiosity was whetted now. “What, Jack?” She shivered as his fingers traced over her hair, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. “The crew will be getting restless soon. Reckon the Pearl will sail within the week.”

Elizabeth’s heart sank with the thought, though she knew it was inevitable. “I know,” she sighed, burying her face in the bend of his neck. How long would it take her to forget his scent, and the heat of his body curled against hers? Never, she decided. It would haunt her until he returned to these shores, and who _knew_ how long that would be.

“You…could come with me? That is…us, I mean…”

Elizabeth went completely still in his arms, and Jack feared he made another misstep, until she managed to sit up on elbows to regard him. The excitement that shone in her polished mahogany eyes was suddenly worth all the uncertainty. “May I?”

“Aye. We both already know you make a fine pirate, Lizzy darlin’.”

And, he did not relish the thought of leaving her alone again, remembering the way Charles Vane had regarded her the night before. Like a wolf looks upon a lamb, and Jack couldn’t bring himself to ignore it. Maybe she wasn’t a _lamb,_ but if she stayed, he knew in his gut something _bad_ would happen to her again, and just the thought was enough to drive him wild with worry.

If she insisted on courting danger, best she did it where he could keep an eye on her.

“And to where does the Pearl sail next, Captain Sparrow?”

Jack wagged a finger at her, his ring flashing in the mid-morning light. “Now _that_ is a secret I cannot divulge until we are well on our way, love. Loose lips, an’ all.”

Elizabeth quirked her head, a small smile pulling at her lips. In the end she decided she didn’t really care where they were headed. So long as she could be with Jack, they could sail right to the ends of the earth.

“ _Oh Jack.”_

She nestled down against his chest once more, savoring the sweetness of the moment, and even the ache of her new tattoo. How fitting that she should wear Jack Sparrow’s mark on the outside of her skin, as surely as she wore it within. If tattoos were a chart of a man’s life and soul to read upon the skin, then Jack was a point on her map earned _long_ ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Thank you everyone for your enthusiasm and kind comments! They make my day and make writing this so much more fun! :D  
> II. The songs Hog Eyed Man and Rolling Sea are from the album Rogue’s Gallery, a compilation of sea chanteys put together by Johnny Depp. It’s so good! If you’re into that sort of thing I really recommend it!


	8. She Wore A Yellow Dress

Elizabeth began preparing to make sail the very next day, sorting through what little she owned, deciding what to take and what would be left behind. There wasn’t much, truth be told, and she discovered her most prized possessions were her drawings, of which covered the walls, the table, and stacked precariously in a large basket by the chaise. She began sorting which to bring and which she would leave for safe-keeping with Grace, who had agreed to watch over her pen-and-ink oeuvre in Elizabeth’s absence.

As the afternoon drew long Grace dropped by with a package in arms, and a mischievous smile tugging the corner of her lips. “The Captain of the Black Pearl sends his compliments, milady,” she said in a teasing tone, extending a piece of folded parchment sealed with a daub of red wax.

With one dark brow raised Elizabeth eyed the thick paper dubiously, curious what on Earth Jack was up to. The wax bore the imprint of a little bird in flight. A sparrow. With a smile she cracked it open to read the missive inside. In a surprisingly fine and flowing hand was written:

 

_Dearest Miss Swann,_

_I would be honored to receive the pleasure of your company for dinner at sunset aboard the Black Pearl. Grace bears an offering I thought we might both enjoy, and I hope you will wear it, though please avoid loitering around any high places while doing so._

_With fondest regards,_

_Captain Jack Sparrow_

 

Elizabeth laughed at the ridiculously formal yet playful wording of the invitation, divining the contents of the package before even opening it up. However, the contents by far exceeded her expectations. The silken confection within was fine as a beam of sunlight, a frock the color of fresh churned butter with cream lace at the neck, waist, and sleeves. Beneath the dress lay a gossamer chemise, and a corset, explaining Jack’s warnings of high places, which made her chuckle. She thought of her pirate captain’s whisperings on the more pleasurable arts of corsetry, and a flush of heat bloomed across her skin as she touched the intricately sewn undergarment. Jack obviously had an _interesting_ evening planned ahead.

“I’ll help you innit and fix your hair if you’re agreeable,” said Grace, her eyes shining with mischief and delight. Elizabeth sighed, stroking the silk sleeve of the dress once more. She had mixed feelings about such feminine fripperies now, and yet she suspected Jack wanted to give her a taste of the refinement she’d known in her old life. A gesture meant in generosity, not malice.

In the end, Elizabeth caved.

First Grace tackled her coiffure, and Grace insisted on going the extra mile by heating curlers on the cook fire outside. Once set Grace arranged Elizabeth’s curls in a style that would have been acceptable in the finest drawing rooms of London, much less a tiny pirate island in the Caribee.

Next Grace chattered happily as she helped Elizabeth into the chemise and corset, trussing her effectively for the sake of fashion. “You’re a lucky one, you are,” she insisted as she pulled on the lacings, slowly diminishing Elizabeth’s ability to breathe. “Captain Sparrow is a fine catch.”

“I’m not sure I would say I’ve _caught_ him,” said Elizabeth, afraid to believe it might be true, knowing the disappointment would _kill_ her if she mistakenly went down that road.

Grace just laughed disbelievingly, as though there were something very obvious in front of the both of them that Elizabeth could not see.

The gown came next, and it truly was a thing of beauty, even if impractical as the day was long. The pale yellow against her tanned skin and honeyed brown hair was undeniably fetching.

Had she really worn such things _every day_ once upon a time?

It seemed like a lifetime ago, now.

“There you are,” said Grace with a wide smile, fluffing her skirts. “You clean up real nice, Miss Lizzy.”

“Thank you, Grace.”

The women exchanged an embrace, and Grace went on her way. A glance out the window told Elizabeth it would be time to go to the Pearl soon, and her stomach did a little flip in anticipation. One last element remained to complete her costume, a pair of silk slippers embroidered with blue threads and seed pearls. She regarded them appreciatively, finding herself reluctant to put them on and risk ruin. She knew the value of such things now, in a way that had never occurred to her in her former life, when luxuries had simply seemed to appear in her wardrobe. How her father had _spoiled_ her.

A painful ache squeezed her heart at the thought of him. He was the one living person from her old life that she missed terribly. Usually she tried not to think of it, for the pain became too much to bear.

“Well well,” said a voice from the door. “Look here. Is someone throwing a ball on Tortuga? I didn’t get my invitation.”

Elizabeth’s gaze shot to the doorway to find the imposing figure of Charles Vane leaning there, his muscular arms crossed over his torso.

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, and her heart dropped to her feet. Here she was, a perfect sitting duck, hardly able to move in this silly dress.

_Oh no._

Before she could answer his question Charles entered the shack, picked up the note from Jack, reading the missive with a raised auburn brow. As he scanned the words his expression darkened, and when he finished he crumpled the parchment in his hands, tossing the balled paper to the ground. Elizabeth moved a step to put her little table between them, but it felt no better than piece of driftwood separating her from a great white shark in the ocean.

“I hear you’re sailing away with him,” Charles said, his tone falsely cheerful. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips, knowing any answer she gave would surely only infuriate this dangerous man further. She could tell he’d had a little to drink, no surprise on Tortuga, but not enough to render him helpless by far.

“Charles…please don’t.”

He frowned, leaning upon the table to fix her with a nerve-racking stare. “Don’t _what_ , Elizabeth?”

She could tell that he was keen to hear her name what crimes she thought him capable of with her, but she was loathe to give him ideas.

“Let me go.”

He smiled, but it held no warmth. “Your memory is short, Elizabeth. Did you really think you lived here in peace because the fine citizens of this god-forsaken island respect you? Because they fear you?” He snorted with laughter. “ _My_ reputation, _my_ threat, kept you safe, not bloody Jack Sparrow’s, and _this_ is the thanks you offer me? My patience has run out with you.”

She had a pistol hidden in a basket beside the chaise, and of all her weapons it seemed the only thing capable of stopping a man like Kit Vane. She bolted for it, but Charles was too fast, and her corsets too impeding. He picked her up easily with an arm round her narrow waist, and hauled her roughly upon the table.

Elizabeth screamed, which was muffled by his punishing mouth upon hers. With one large hand upon her throat he held her down, his large body hatcheted between her legs.

“Don’t!” she pleaded. He ground against her, a rough hand in her hair, and flashes of memories of that awful night returned to her, rendering her senseless with fear. She pushed against him, but it was like a butterfly railing against a stone wall. She breathed in shallow gasps, her vision swimming.

_NO no no no no. Not again._

“Here you are, as fine a treasure as anything silver or gold, sitting _so vulnerable_ by your shack by the sea. _I_ have kept you safe, Elizabeth, and a little gratitude would be forthcoming.” He tore the shoulder of her gown, nipping at the round of her shoulder hard enough to bruise. She whimpered, which he seemed to like, as it pulled a feral smile from his lips.

The sight of the fresh sparrow tattoo only seemed to infuriate him more. “So _where_ is your precious Jack Sparrow now?” he taunted. “Shouldn’t he be protecting you?” He grabbed at her voluminous skirts, pushing them out of the way to find her bare thigh. He groaned as a rough hand ran up the length of her leg, gripping hard just beneath her buttocks.

Elizabeth reined in her panic, knowing she could not win this fight with force alone. If Jack had taught her anything, it was that an underdog’s best weapon was his wits. “You’re hurting me,” she protested, forcing steel into her tone when all she really wanted to do was whimper.

“I don’t want to,” he told her, and maybe he even believed it. “I prefer my women willing, but you leave me no choice. Sometimes a man must take a woman in hand, and tell her what’s best for her.”

Elizabeth bit down on fiery rage for _that_ statement.

“Just…slow down,” she soothed in a gentle but firm voice, the way she would coax a big unruly animal. “You’ve made your point.” She placed a hand on his chest, and rather than push away she slid her palm over the muscles of his pectorals, seemingly appreciative. The pirate made a sound low in his throat somewhere between a growl and a purr. He leaned over her, both hands flat on the desk on either side, and closed his eyes as she touched him.

“I have your portrait in my cabin, you know,” he ground out against the skin of her throat, pressing his hips against her center. She could feel his arousal rubbing against her, and fought the urge to expel her lunch. “Those big doe eyes _watching_ me all the time. You’ve been driving me _mad_.”

Elizabeth’s shaking hand rifled through the stacks of papers upon her desk as her other distracted Vane, hoping to find something of use. She was not the most organized artist, truth be told, and she hoped to find anything pointy. A needle. A pencil. _Anything_.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I suppose I didn’t understand your…feelings for me, Charles.”

Her hand continued its search.

Vane huffed with annoyance, leaning into her touch upon his cheek. “Infuriating chit. Don’t know how I could have made them clearer. _You_ belong to _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As ever, your comments make my day!


	9. Well Matched

 

To prove his point Vane kissed her, _hard,_ and Elizabeth whimpered as his grip tightened painfully in her hair. But she continued her quest through the papers upon her desk, careful not to draw attention to her scheme by returning Vane’s ardor with false enthusiasm. When her fingertips brushed the cool smooth handle of the little knife she used to sharpen her pencils she could have _wept_ with relief.

Grasping the handle, she quickly drove it down hard as she could into his hand upon the desk.

Vane howled with alarm, disoriented for just long enough to allow her to squirm away, and scramble out the door. She fled to the sound of angry curses behind her, but she didn’t look back. She ran for everything she was worth for the docks, feeling as though her lungs would explode in the confines of the bloody corset. At last she reached the Pearl, running up the gangway onto the beloved ship.

The crew instantly gathered around her as she bent over gasping for breath.

“It’s Elizabeth!”

“Miss Lizzy!”

“What happened?”

“Are ye hurt?”

“She’s bleedin’!”

Jack burst from his cabin, running to her, alarm written on his handsome face. “Lizzy? What happened?”

She threw herself into his arms, and could only get out one word. “Vane.”

This caused a rabble amongst the crew that spread like a wildfire. She looked like she’d gone a round with a pack of wild dogs, her dress torn, pretty hair askew, and a great deal of blood down the one side of her dress. Jack inspected her limbs frantically, looking for the wound.

“Not mine,” she wheezed. “Not my blood. _His_.”

“ _Christ_.” Jack pulled her close again, his hand holding her head to his chest.

“It was Vane! Let’s get him!” raised answering cries from the crew, incensed that anyone would dare touch Miss Elizabeth. They remembered his handling of Lizzy at the pub not so long ago. “We’ll teach ‘im a lesson he’ll not soon forget!”

The whole crew seemed ready to march to battle Vane on her behalf, and Elizabeth knew such a thing, mixed with Vane’s crew of the Ranger, would only end in a bloodbath. “No,” she insisted, but no one was listening. Even Jack seemed murderous, a dark light in his eyes she’d only seen once, the night he shot Barbossa.

More men just _keen_ to die for her honor. She couldn’t _stand_ the thought.

“BELAY THAT!” she bellowed with what remained of her breath. “The blood is _not_ mine!”

Everyone paused, taken aback by the outburst, confused looks on their faces. Only then did they look to their Captain, who made a staying gesture with his free hand, the other fixed securely upon Lizzy. “Aye, belay that,” agreed Jack reluctantly, knowing it was best. “Everyone calm down, eh?”

Elizabeth struggled to catch her breath in the shelter of Jack’s arms. She noticed that he was wearing a snow white linen shirt, a new tunic, and had shined his boots. Apparently he’d intended to entertain her to the nines this evening.

What a blunder she’d made of _that_ plan.

Suddenly there was an explosion across the harbor that sent everyone to the leeward gunwale with curiosity.

Elizabeth feared she already knew the cause of it.

Her little shack was visible from their place at the docks, and now it was consumed in flames, orange fire licking at the old dried wood. As Elizabeth watched it burn a cold numb spread over her, and Jack’s arms tightened. Jack held her head again his chest, shielding her eyes from the sight as one might protect a child. But she had seen enough.

_Everything lost, again._

Every Earthly thing she owned. Her _drawings_. The thought of losing all her work, the multitude of which no doubt effectively turned her shack into a tinder box, made her legs weak and tears pricked at her eyes.

Suddenly the corset seemed as though it was _suffocating_ her.

“Help me,” she whispered raggedly, gripping Jack’s hand and dragging him towards his cabin. “Please, get this thing _off_ me. _Off off off get it off!_ ” She squirmed frantically, trying to reach behind to do the deed herself, but could not reach. Her breathing became irregular once more, and hot tears leaked from her eyes.

“Alright, love, alright. Calm down.” Jack’s hands upon her shoulders, strong and calloused, were the only thing anchoring her to sanity at that moment. She trembled, breathing too quickly, pressing her hands together in her effort to remain still. He made quick work of the lacings at the back of her blood spattered gown, and then the corset too. Only when both lay in a pile on the floor, useless confining things that had rendered her helpless, could she finally breathe again. She gasped deeply and the room stopped spinning with such alacrity.

Immediately she gravitated back into the circle of Jack’s arms, the only place she felt safe these days. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I just thought…”

She realized he apologized for the dress and corset, and squeezed him tighter. She peeked out from her shelter to behold his table set complete with table cloth, fine china, silver flatware, and a massive candelabra that lent the cabin a soft glow in the fading light. He’d meant it as a gift, she knew. Some small remembrance of the life she’d once had, before they set out for the adventure and hardships of the sea. The sweetness of his intentions, the effort he’d gone to, made her dizzy all over again.

“It’s alright, Jack,” she assured him, craning her neck to brush his lips with hers. “Thank you. It would have been lovely. _So lovely._ ”

“What _happened_?” He leaned back to regard her down the straight line of his aristocratic nose, an almost comical expression of worry upon his face. Long fingers smoothed loose strands of hair away from her eyes, and she closed her eyes, calmed by his touch.

“Vane tried to…” A strangled sound escaped her; she could not name it, and she closed her eyes against the surge of disgust and shame that she’d nearly become a man’s victim _again_. However, Jack could guess, all too well. “I stabbed him in the hand and fled.”

Jack pulled her back against him, marveling at her courage and _angry_ with himself for giving Vane the chance. Darkness roiled in his belly and he vowed _no more_. No one would hurt Lizzy like that, like _anything_ , ever again. It scared him stiff to feel so responsible for another human being, but there was no help for it. “M’sorry, Lizzy. So bloody sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

An impulse gripped her, a sudden scratching _need,_ and she stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his. Jack was her safe harbor, _her_ choice, and she _needed_ him. Jack seemed taken aback by the sudden burst of ardor, staring down at her wide-eyed, though he did not pull away. “Lizzy?” he asked as she pulled him towards him berth, none too gently. “Are you sure you want this…so soon?”

“Yes,” she answered, absolutely steadfast in her determination. She tugged him _hard,_ sending them both sprawling into the berth. It was a mite bigger than the ill-fated chaise, to be sure, and she felt certain they would make good use of the extra room. “ _I need_ _you,_ ” she insisted, unbuttoning his tunic, popping off one of the buttons in her haste. “ _You make everything better_.”

Jack could not articulate the flood of warmth that welled inside him, too scared to give it a name, too _lost_ to care. For most of his life it had seemed that everything he touched turned to dust somehow, and it was a balm to hear that at least one person in this world thought him more than a blunderer, a thief, and a cheat. These were insecurities he excelled at covering with bravado, bluster, and theatre, but they lived deep in the very root of his soul.

_I need you too._

He tried to say it aloud, but the words caught at the back of his throat. Maybe he could _show_ her, at least. Jack’s soft lips travelled the curve of her neck and shoulder, finding the angry bruise of Vane’s bite mark. Something cold and deadly weighed like a stone in Jack’s heart, and though he was not a man usually given to violence, he knew if ever given half a chance he just might kill Charles Vane.

Ever so gently his lips pressed to the wound, seeking to erase the marks of violence with love.

_Love._

No, he couldn’t say it, but Jack knew that was the word. The damnable, terrifying, exhilarating word.

He loved Elizabeth Swann.

Clothing shed away, and some knot within Elizabeth loosened when finally she felt Jack’s bare skin upon hers, the weight of his body pressing her down into the mattress. Her hips undulated against his, feeling him already hard with arousal. With little preamble Elizabeth wrapped her long legs around Jack’s hips, urging him inside her. She was wet and ready and he did not stop until hilt deep within her weeping quim, a groan escaping from deep in his throat. “ _Oh Lizzy._ Easy, girl. We have all night.”

She laughed a little at her own impatience, and it was a relief for Jack to hear it. “All I know we have is _now._ ” That was the only certainty, and she had learned that the hard way.

Understanding such school of thought _all_ too well, he sighed, nipping lightly at her earlobe. “It will be alright, Lizzy. I won’t…” He stopped short of making a promise he might not keep, even if he wanted to. For all the world, he wanted to stay with Elizabeth Swann. What had this woman _done_ to him?

“I know, Jack. Just…don’t stop.” He began to move, withdrawing to the tip and then burying himself deep inside her, so gratified to feel her arch and moan against him. Their union was fevered and quick, and yet so profoundly satisfying. In no time they lay in a pile of tangled limbs, sweaty and gasping and grinning like fools.

Elizabeth fingered a lock of Jack’s dark hair, lovingly tracing the braids and beads. He was the one person in the world that made her life seem worth living at that moment, and she marveled at how they had arrived at this unlikely place together. If she thought about it too hard it would be terrifying, and so she simply decided to enjoy it in that one perfect moment, and the next perfect moment, and the next.

Only in the calm after the storm did Elizabeth cast her eyes about the rest of Jack’s cabin. She remembered this room from when Barbossa had taken her prisoner, and yet it looked so different under Jack’s reign. Heavy dark velvets had been replaced with brightly printed Indian fabrics. Festively painted heathen gods and stacks of books filled the cabinets, as well as a plethora of rolled up charts stored in baskets. A bulgy eyed red dragon hung from the ceiling, its coils and tassels swaying with the gentle rocking of the ship.

The space spoke of a curios and well-travelled man, and she smiled. Would this become her home too in the coming months? Or would she be sleeping below in a hammock with the rest of the crew? She dared not presume, though she didn’t think it was too dangerous to reason she would at least be spending more than a few evenings here on their journey. She looked forward to it immensely.

The candles guttered by the time the couple roused. “Let me see about that meal now, eh love?” said Jack, disentangling himself and pulling on his breeches. Elizabeth smiled and nodded sleepily, content as a cat in the pile of bright pillows. Jack paused to admire the sight of her lain out like an odalisque on his bed, tousled curls so golden in the candlelight, mused from their lovemaking. What had he done to deserve such luck? Something profound in a past life, perhaps, because nothing he’d managed in _this_ one quite added up.

Jack took a deep breath as he exited the cabin, quietly shutting the door behind him. Gibbs stood at the gunwale closest to the docks, looking at the glowing coals that were once Lizzy’s shack across the harbor. “Could be trouble later, Cap’n,” said Gibbs, referring to Vane and the cutthroat crew of the Ranger.

“Aye. Post a double watch tonight, eh? We’ll make sail soon as possible.”

Gibbs glanced at the door of Jack’s cabin, eyebrows raised in question. Darkness hid the evidence, but Jack was fairly sure the old tar blushed. “She alright?”

“Aye. She’s a tough one, our Lizzy.”

“Always was,” agreed Gibbs, thinking of the little girl he’d once known who dared stand at the prow of the Dauntless and tempt fate with songs of pirates. He reckoned she’d gotten more than her share of buccaneers now.

“She…” Jack sighed, disliking the order he was about to give, and knowing Lizzy would hate it too. “She is _not_ to leave the ship,” Jack decreed. “I won’t tempt fate—or Vane, again.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

“Any chance there’s a little something left of that pig to be had?” asked Jack. The crew had undoubtedly feasted earlier, and had a helping of sweet rum punch too. It wouldn’t have been fair to put on a special dinner for Lizzy and leave the rest of his mates out. After learning the hard lesson of mutiny Jack took special care to keep his crew happy.

Gibbs grinned, considering telling the Captain that it was all gone, but thinking better of it. “We saved _a little_ for you love-struck puppies,” teased his first mate. “Have it up in a trice, Cap’n.”

Jack clapped his old friend on the back. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Gibbs.”

Gibbs went below to the galley, and Jack returned to his cabin to find Elizabeth sitting in the chair to the right of the head of the table, wearing naught but her chemise. It was a confection of nearly translucent silk, and Jack congratulated himself on his exemplary taste in women’s undergarments. At least _this_ part he seemed to have gotten right.

She smiled at his arrival, and he was thankful to see her in such high spirits, considering. “Now _that_ suits you perfectly,” said Jack, fluttering his fingers in indication of the chemise. It reminded him of their time on the island, a mostly happy memory to be sure, with condolences to the Rum.

“I thought so as well,” she said archly, smoothing the sleeve as though it were her finest gown. Smiling, they locked eyes, and Jack felt that impossible warmth fill him yet again. What misfits they were, the both of them, and yet he dared think _, so well matched_. If they could just make it off Tortuga with their hides intact, the future looked bright indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has read this far! Your comments have continued to a) make me ridiculously happy and b) fuel my interest for finishing this story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	10. Captain's Orders

** Chapter 10: Captain’s Orders **

 

Everyone expected the break of dawn to bring new un-pleasantries, for Vane and the crew of the Ranger were not exactly known for turning the other cheek. Thus it was to everyone’s surprise, including Jack’s, to find the place in the harbor where the sloop _Ranger_ had been moored, now empty. Inexplicably, it seemed Captain Vane decided to slink off and lick his wounds elsewhere, the unlikelihood of which made Jack Sparrow increasingly uneasy.

Was his rival lying in wait for the Pearl, just out of sight over the horizon? It was common knowledge on the island that she would sail soon. And yet that too made no sense, for the Pearl by far outsized and outgunned the sleeker, smaller sloop by a longshot. Puzzled, Jack waited.

With Lizzy safely holed up in his cabin, waiting wasn’t _too_ unpleasant, to be sure. She had taken the blow of the destruction of her home surprisingly well, and Jack suspected she had only shoved it all down deep inside with everything else, to be mourned at a later date. He knew that trick with great familiarity. He knew the loss of her designs pained her, though outwardly she shrugged it off, reasoning that her best work was walking around beneath sailors’ skins all around the world, so what did she have to cry about?

Most women would have found _plenty_ to cry about, but Elizabeth just lifted her chin and marched on. Unflappable, that girl, and he couldn’t help but admire her.

He also couldn’t help the impulse to spoil her, and he surprised her the next morning with her very own sea chest packed with useful things. Tortuga was a veritable bazaar of illicit goods from all over the globe, and a great deal of those goods made their way into Lizzy’s keeping. New linen shirts, sailor’s pants of heavy canvas, a silk wrapper, brilliantly colored scarves and sashes. An oilskin coat. A knife and whetstone. Soap. Needle and thread. An ivory comb. A sword that was more her size and better balanced too. The list went on. By far her favorite was a fine French pistol with silver chasing, the hammer fashioned in the shape of a leaping dolphin.

A few days passed, and Elizabeth found herself getting restless confined to the Pearl with dry land so close at hand. One morning she woke early, Jack still dead asleep beside her, exhausted from their lovemaking the night before. Quietly she crept out of bed and dressed, carrying her boots in hand so as not to wake Jack.

It was a lovely tropical morning, the sky awash with soft purples and pinks. Soon it would be jewel-bright blue, and she enjoyed the cooler air of the early hour while she could. Gibbs too was on deck, and when he noticed her progress towards the gangplank he scrambled in her direction. “Good morning, Miss Lizzy!” he said, far too loudly for the hour.

“Morning, Mr. Gibbs.” She crouched to slip on her boots. “Did you sleep well?”

“Ah…yes, yes indeed. Like a babe, erm…” He shuffled sideways as she began walking towards the gangway again.

“I am glad to hear it,” she said with an arched eyebrow, perplexed by his determination to stand in her way. “I thought to go for a little walk before the rest of the island wakes. Is there something I can procure for you in town?” she asked.

What she really wanted was to inspect the charred ruins of her home, and see if anything had survived, though she hardly dared hope. She just had to _see it_ one last time before making sail. The urge clawed and scratched inside her, and she knew if she did not she would regret it.

“Ah, no. It’s just…perhaps you could stay onboard until the Captain wakes?”

Elizabeth paid him an indulgent smile. “Mr. Gibbs, I have lived on this island alone for more than two years. The Ranger has sailed, and I think I am capable of taking a turn on my own.” She patted the sword slung over her shoulders to illustrate the point.

Because she had not waited around for Jack to save her from Vane, had she? She took matters into her own hands, and felt more than capable of doing so again, if need be.

“Erm...aye, lassie, I know you’re more than capable, it’s just...”

She tried to step around him, but Gibbs moved from side to side with an almost comically apologetic expression. A passerby may have found it very funny indeed, but Elizabeth was losing her patience, and swiftly descending into feeling quite annoyed. “Mister Gibbs, will you _please_ step aside?”

Finally a voice from behind her stopped the spectacle at the gangplank in its tracks. “Lizzy? Why don’t you come back to bed, love?”

Elizabeth whirled to find Jack in naught but his breeches, his scarred, tattooed, and sun bronzed hide bare for everyone to see. She should have been getting used to it by now, but somehow the sight of his uncommon masculine beauty still managed to take her breath away.

At the moment, however, this weakness only annoyed her more. She narrowed her eyes, and Jack reckoned he saw sparks flying from those deep brown orbs. He resisted the temptation to swallow, hard.

“Jack, how kind of you to join us. I actually am quite awake and do not wish to go back to bed. I _wish_ to go for a fucking walk on the beach, but Gibbs won’t get out of my way. Why is that, pray tell?” She suspected she already knew, and the more she thought about it the more it _infuriated_ her.

Though he suspected it would do no good, Jack tried to talk her down. “Let me throw on some togs, and then I’ll go ashore with you. We’ll have breakfast at the tavern. Sounds nice, eh?”

Elizabeth only clenched her jaw; Jack could see the muscles flex in her delicate but sharply drawn visage.

“I need to go ashore alone,” she answered after a few long moments passed. “I want to see the ruins of my home. I need to say goodbye _again_ , and I don’t fancy you looking over my shoulder for it.”

Now Jack began to feel the heat of annoyance simmer in his belly. Didn’t she see he was only trying to protect her? “You have a short memory, Lizzy.”

“I remember everything _very_ well, Jack. Am I your prisoner now? Your property? Your concubine? I suppose you’ve fucked me enough for free that one couldn’t blame you for thinking so.”

She flung these harsh words as daggers aimed right for his heart, and Jack inwardly winced as they hit home. “You know you’re not any of those things to me.”

“Then what gives you the authority to forbid me from leaving this ship? Are you ordering me as _my Captain?_ ”

Jack chewed on the inside of his cheek, his mind frantically racing as how to diffuse this situation. This was a side of Lizzy he had yet to get used to. The last time she’d been this angry with him he’d had a pristine white beach and a hidey-hole full of rum to temper her with. But that had also been on a teeny spit of an isle where she couldn’t really get away.

The Captain card felt like the only smidgen of authority he held with her, so he prayed she would yield as he said, “Perhaps I am.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back a wave of emotion that would be of no help to her now. Who was this man? Where was her freedom-loving mad cap pirate, who would no sooner cage a _bird,_ much less _her_? Had she misjudged him _so badly_? Suddenly she trusted nothing. Not Jack, or her own perceptions.

Her legs itched to _move,_ and her right foot trembled with the urge to shove off _._

She remembered Charles Vane’s words. _Sometimes a man must take a woman in hand, and tell her what’s best for her.”_

The thought made her feel _sick._ Is that what Jack thought he could do with her?

Something hot and _dangerous_ rebelled inside her, and when she opened her eyes a _fierce_ creature looked back out at the world. “Then why is no one else forbidden from going ashore?” she demanded.

“You know why.”

“The Ranger is _gone_!”

“That doesn’t mean his cronies aren’t still waiting for you.”

 Elizabeth shook her head, unable to believe Charles Vane would go to _that_ much effort to avenge himself upon _her_. Her narrow body _trembled_ with rage. “This is rubbish, Jack, and you know it.”

“Tis not. You’ll not go and that’s my say so.” He knew there would be hell to pay, but he would pay it, pay it _gladly_ if only he could keep her safe. He remembered what it was like to be so young and impetuous and if only _he’d_ had a staying hand to keep him from his worst misadventures. He was ready to call all hands and weigh anchor right this moment, if it would _keep her safe._

“Then you give me no choice,” she said quietly, sadness and a bitter edge to her voice. “I do not believe I have yet signed your articles, _Captain_ Sparrow, and thus I am not yours to command. I fear I cannot accompany you on your expedition. Good day.” She tipped her hat low, more to hide the anguish on her face than out of respect, and swiftly turned on her heel to run down the gangplank.

Jack watched her go, _bewildered_ as to what exactly had just happened? Not but a minute ago they were curled up together in his berth, snug as love-bitten bugs, and now… He watched her blond head as she made her way down the docks, and her diminishing form as she walked swiftly down the quay. Then she _ran_ , in the direction of her charbroiled shack across the harbor. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his heart had run off with her, a magnificently painful ache pressing against his chest. Jack fought the urge to lift his hand to his heart, as though he thought he might find an actual dagger sticking out of his breastbone.

Something inside him screamed to go after her, but something _else_ kept his feet firmly in place. Foolish pride gained an even surer foothold as he realized the entire morning watch fixed their stares upon him, having just witnessed their captain being bent over a barrel by a pretty _girl_.

_He would be damned._

Gibbs dared place a hand on Jack’s shoulder, giving him a fatherly squeeze. “Let her cool off a bit, Cap’n. Then you can go an’ get her, easy as pie.”

But Jack only frowned, a black expression taken over his handsome countenance. He hardly recognized his voice as he said, “If this is what she wants, Mr. Gibbs, I’ll not chase her. Daft little bird.” He swallowed back a wave of emotion, fighting like hell to keep his expression hard. He needed a _drink,_ and on legs that felt heavy as lead he turned to go back into his cabin.

It smelled different now. Not only like rum and tobacco and old books and himself, but of her soft skin and the earthy scent of their lovemaking. Collapsing in his chair, Jack hung his head in his hands.

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth did not stop running until she reached the charred remains of her little hut, and she bent over gasping for breath beside the ruins. It was as she suspected, of course. There was _nothing_ left. Just ashes and black lumps of charcoal that may have once been her settee.

That ridiculous settee, where Jack Sparrow had first claimed her heart, body, and soul. The thought made her _angry,_ and like a shot she was running again, down the beach until the town was no longer visible. Just the crashing sea, the pristine beach, and swaying palms.

Once she was finally out of sight of _all_ eyes she collapsed on the sand, and _wept._

She did not move from her place for _hours_ , the sun traveling from the horizon to high in the sky. She only revived slightly from her misery when a tall shadow cast over her wretched form. “I’m not going back, Jack,” she sniffled, wiping her nose, not even bothering to look behind her. She knew if she looked, if she saw the anguish on his face, _those soulful dark eyes_ , she would cave. She would give him _anything_ he wanted. Freedom was just a pretty word—people _needed_ each other, and she required Jack Sparrow like water to drink and air to breathe.

_But if she could just forget again…_

She’d locked up her heart once, to survive. She could do it again. Couldn’t she? She had to. _She had to, she had to, she had to._

There was a nasty chuckling behind her that suddenly made her blood run cold. “S’fine wit us, love. Cap’n Vane sends his compliments.”

A hard blow on the back of her head made the jewel-bright world go _black_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you everyone who has so patiently followed along! Your reviews have surely kept up my interest in seeing this fic through! Cheers!


	11. A Wanted Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Lizzy is on.

Late in the afternoon Jack could stand it no longer. His pride caved to the howling inside, and he gathered himself to go find Elizabeth. His compass, of course, picked the perfect time to spin in endless circles. Frustrated, he nearly tossed the useless thing in the harbor. He tried the wharf first, and then the site of her charbroiled little shack. When that turned up nothing he continued to walk the beach. She’d told him that she would walk the sand when she needed to think or to get away from the bustle and stink of the town, and he hoped he would find her sitting on a piece of driftwood, watching the waves crash. Maybe she would have cooled off by now, and they could sit and watch the sun set together, and forget all about their harsh words of earlier that day…

The tide was coming in, and any evidence of footprints had been obliterated by the waves. Yet just out of reach of the water there was a place where the sand had been disturbed, where it was pristine all rest of the way around. Jack frowned and crouched down to look closer.

Though it was only a few drops, there was the unmistakable rusty stain of blood on the sand. Jack shot up, and frantically looked around more. Larger footprints seemed to lead away, farther down the beach, but then disappeared again in the surf.

There was a cove up ahead, what would be a very good place to hide a little cutter, just out of sight. Jack found himself sprinting towards it, but as he cleared the ridge he found it empty of anything but crystal blue water. His heart thundered in his chest, and he knew as sure as his name was _Jack_ that something wasn’t right.

Muttering to himself, Jack went back to the ship for reinforcements. He chose Gibbs, of course, and a large man named Stubbs who was immensely intimidating, even if he was rather a softy on the inside. Then one by one, Jack methodically went to each of the taverns to question if anyone had seen Lizzy or heard _anything_ regarding her.

At the Coq d’Or he found Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny looking right miserable at a table in the corner, and somehow he felt certain that he found his lead. “What are you two doing here?” Jack demanded on approach, flanked by a forbidding Gibbs and Mr. Stubbs. “The Ranger has sailed.”

Anne Bonny looked combative, as per usual, and placed a meaningful hand upon her sword hilt. But Jack Rackham seemed heedless, and rolled blue eyes up to Captain Sparrow. It was obvious that he was _very_ drunk. “I thought I was doing the right thing by Lizzy,” Rackham slurred. “She’s had such a tough time here, an’ Captain Vane wanted to _kill_ her, he was so angry ‘bout his hand, an’ he always gets his way when he’s in that black a mood. I thought to divert him, is all. It was the only way to save her.”

Suddenly Jack Sparrow felt a chill slide down his spine, cold as ice. “What have you done, Rackham?”

Jack Rackham spread his hands wide, as if to say _what does it matter now._

Jack Sparrow was not content with that answer, and would have throttled him had Anne not looked so keen to put a gully in his belly at the slightest provocation. Jack Sparrow had learned the hard way not to get on the wrong side of an angry red head, and so with caution he threw a gold coin down on the table. “I would be _obliged_ to know where she is.”

“Vane has her.”

Sparrow rolled his eyes. “I worked that out on my own, thank you. Where are they headed?”

Rackham sighed heavily. “Jawbone Key.”

Again Jack narrowly resisted the urge to shake Rackham like a ragdoll. There was nothing on that spit of an island but a few palm trees and a stretch of sand that indeed resembled, as it had been so _creatively_ monikered, a jawbone. “What for?”

“The rendez-vous,” scoffed Rackham, as though it was obvious. “Could always tell she was a lady, but we never reckoned she was a _princess._ ”

Jack’s heart fell into his stomach. In this colonial backwater, a governor’s daughter may as well have been one, and that was information he’d hoped no one but ol’ Tom had ever been privy to. It seemed the cat was out of the bag.

 

**XXX**

 

Aboard the _Ranger_ her two burly captors dragged Elizabeth to Captain Vane’s cabin forthwith. The ship was hidden in a mangrove-tangled cove, not far by cutter from Tortuga. Vane had executed a very neat ruse.

Elizabeth would have been a liar if she said the sight of Vane’s smug smirk did not fill her with fear. He was not the sort of man any sane person fancied being at the mercy of. Worse yet, there were _two_ of him, as she’d taken an extra blow to the head and her vision spun a bit as she was dragged in.

The painting she’d made for him of herself stared out rather accusingly from within its gilded frame behind his desk.

She was roughly sat down in a chair and chained via manacles to an iron ring bolted into the deck floor. Apparently Vane restrained prisoners often in his cabin, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice the dark brown stains soaked into the oaken decking around the chair, and a chill ran down her spine.

“What the fuck is this?” snarled Vane, gesturing towards her bruised eye, now turning a nice Phoenician purple. “I told you not to damage the goods.”

“She fought like a hellcat!” protested one. Which was true. She’d awoken in the bottom of the cutter and immediately gave her captors hell, who had not seen fit to tie her up, slip of a girl that she was. They soon learned that was a mistake, and were only able to restrain her again after smacking her with an oar.

“The two of you couldn’t handle this rail of a girl without knocking her head off? You stupid pig-fuckers. Get out of my sight!” Vane barked, and the pirates were only too happy to oblige, scrambling for the door with tails between their legs. Once the door shut behind them Vane turned to his unwilling guest, a chilling smile taking over his handsome features. “Ah, alone at last.”

Elizabeth fought not to squirm in her chair as he came to crouch before her. He held up his bandaged hand silently, and let Lizzy stew for a few very long moments as she wondered what he intended to do to her in revenge. “You know, sweetheart, there is not a man or woman alive who has crossed me even a _fraction_ as badly as you.” Wisely, she stayed silent, and he picked up her manacled hand, examining her long fingers. She held her breath, rather praying they would stay attached to her body. “Such pretty little fingernails. Can you fathom what you would say to make me stop, if I pulled out _just one_? You’d promise me practically anything, you know. Gold. Loyalty. You sweet little cunt. _The fucking moon_. They all do.”

He lifted her finger to his mouth, nibbling lightly upon the tip of her digit. She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for him to clamp down at the joint, or something equally painful. Moments stretched into hours as she waited for the pain, _so certain_ it would come.

But Charles just laughed delightedly at her obvious fear, kissing her fingers like the gentleman he wasn’t.

 _He’s crazy_ she thought to herself. _Stark raving mad._

 “But you are one lucky little lady, Elizabeth. That’s Elizabeth _Swann_ , isn’t it?”

She frowned in response, unsure if her surname would prove her salvation or her ultimate death. It was obviously something she’d always sought to keep under wraps. Elizabeth didn’t answer, and Vane laughed, a cruel little snicker. “You’ll answer me, darlin’. Anyone who sits in _this_ chair _always_ answers me, one way or another.” He pointedly glanced to the rusty brown stains in the decking, and she gulped a little.

“Yes. Swann was my name, a lifetime ago,” she admitted.

Vane smiled then, bright as the day, and the contrast was _jarring._

“Fancy that. A governor’s daughter right in our midst, all that time.” He clucked his tongue. “For such a fine lady you’ve forgotten your manners pretty well, I’d say.”

“They never seemed terribly useful,” she dared admit, which only caused the pirate captain to bray with laughter.

Vane went to his desk, extracting a piece of parchment from the clutter. “Lookee here, sweetheart. Jack Rackham was so kind as to bring this to my attention at a point in which I was most intent upon killing you.” He held the paper out for her to see, and Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot sky high.

It was a wanted poster, if not an unusual version of one, with a rough sketch of her likeness. The handbill read “WANTED ALIVE—ELIZABETH SWANN.” The sum offered at the bottom was a _staggering_ amount, and Elizabeth knew that either James really had a hard-on to hang her, or her father wanted his wayward daughter home and had found a way to maneuver her a pardon.

But she’d shot _a King’s Officer_ with the intent to _kill_. She didn’t see how even her father’s backroom dealings could get her out of a noose if she went home.

“What now?” she dared ask, rather hoping the _Alive_ directive would stay Vane’s hand.

“What now…” mused Vane playfully, fingering his chin in thought. “Now, I have dispatched a messenger to arrange a rendez-vous at Jawbone Cay with whoever the authorities in Port Royal—your dear Papa, I assume—may wish to send to retrieve you. Whence I intend you trade your shapely arse for a shitload of gold. Lucky you.”

Elizabeth was not exactly thrilled by the prospect of going home, and yet even a noose trumped a slow death at the hands of Captain Vane any day. She could not suppress a sigh of relief, which drew Vane’s attention like a shark to the scent of blood in the water. “I have to say though, the definition of _ALIVE_ leaves more than a little room for interpretation.” He came to stand before her, tugging at the drawstrings of his breeches, and Elizabeth’s stomach flipped uneasily.

_Not again. Please, not again._

“You know who my father will send, don’t you?” she mused, focusing upon one of the Vanes who stood before her. There were still two, which she knew was not a good sign.

“Who, darlin’?” Vane’s gaze raked over her, and the possessive heat in that look made her want to squirm.

“Why, his most trusted lapdog, no doubt. Commodore James Norrington. _The Scourge of Piracy._ ” Vane’s expression remained unreadable, and thus she could tell he was carefully considering her words. “And he’ll most likely bring his darling, _the_ _Dauntless._ Ah, like a floating fort, she is. A first rate boasting _100 guns_. Either that or the _Endeavor_ , which I believe only carries…fifty?”

“Meaning they’re heavy as _fuck_ and the Ranger can outrun them in a trice if necessary. What’s your point?”

“My point? My point is that you want this exchange to go well. The last thing you want me to tell James is that you didn’t behave as a gentleman.”

“Isn’t James Norrington the bloke you _shot_?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “It won’t matter. He’s loyal as a hound. I would wager my weight in gold that he’s _still_ in love with me.”

Probably not so true, actually, but Charles Vane didn’t know that.

“Sounds like a stupid blighter then, if you ask me.”

“Stupid? No. But he can be rash, when it comes to my humble person. So keep your hands to yourself, and I’ll make sure he takes me _straight_ home.”

Vane seemed to chew on this for a little while, and though he obviously didn’t like it, he finally turned on his heel to go back to his desk. “Smith!” he bellowed, and a short but burly man soon entered the cabin. “Take the girl to the brig, if you please.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.” He unlocked Elizabeth’s manacles and began to muscle her towards the door. “Oh and Mr. Smith?”

“Yes Cap’n?”

“No one is to touch her. I hear otherwise and I will have the man’s cock nailed to the mizzen mast. Understood?”

Mr. Smith looked a little green about the gills, but he nodded emphatically. “Aye, Cap’n. Sir. O’ course, sir.” Perhaps Vane was crazy as a loon, but at least he seemed to rule his crew with an iron fist. Elizabeth believed she would be safe as she could be in the brig, as long as Vane didn’t change his mind.


	12. Blood on the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pearl catches up to The Ranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the inconsistencies in the previous chapters. I do try to keep it professional here, but clearly too much time had passed since I last worked on this. And I did all that without a single drop of rum… They have been fixed now. So if you noticed, sorry! If you didn’t, forget I mentioned it. Heh. ;) And as ever, thank you sincerely for your comments, they make my day!

Jack’s compass still ran in circles the next day, but it didn’t matter because he at least had a proper map, and the Pearl was headed directly for Jawbone Cay. He prayed they would get there in time to intercept Vane before Elizabeth could be handed over to the authorities. Just because the poster declared Lizzy was wanted alive did not necessarily mean she would be safe.

James Norrington had been keen on hanging Jack Sparrow even after the pirate had saved the girl from drowning in the harbor of Port Royal. This left Captain Sparrow with little faith in the Commodore’s mercy for a woman who had _shot_ him, no matter how much the git had deserved it.

When the _Ranger_ came into view, floating in the deeper waters off Jawbone Cay, _alone,_ Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Surely they were in time?

_Please let them be in time._

Despite their disagreement, and Jack’s initial stupefaction for her reaction to his high-handed efforts _to keep her out of Vane’s hands_ —Jack knew that Lizzy was special to him. Perhaps even…

_He loved her._

A little voice whispered, and this time Jack did not argue with it. Despite the short amount of time they’d been together, he _loved_ her. Sooner or later every man longs for a home, no matter how long or hard he has rambled. And sure as anything he knew, Lizzy was that warm safe place he wanted to curl up in, time and again.

Even more to Jack’s surprise, the crew had given him no grief over the errand of fetching Lizzy from Vane. He’d expected some deals and promises of future share of treasure would be necessary to persuade his crew to this potentially dangerous and not really profitable rescue mission. However when he’d proposed it there had been a simple and unanimous cheer of _Aye!_

Quietly, Ana Maria had hissed in Jack’s ear that he was a fucking fool for trying to order Elizabeth around like that, and an even bigger one for letting her go for so long. Jack had frowned at his outspoken crew member, but secretly inside he’d agreed whole heartedly.

“Mister Gibbs. See that the guns are ready, if you please. I would like this to be a short and decisive parlay with _The Ranger._ ”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

And so it was with gun ports open and claws fully extended that _the Pearl_ glided up beside _the Ranger_. She rather loomed over the sleek but smaller vessel, a dark and forbidding behemoth looking down her nose at Vane’s ship.

The crew of the _Ranger_ stood at the ready with fierce expressions, cutlasses and muskets in hand, as did the Pearls. Tension crackled in the air as sure as any storm. Vane pushed to the front, standing at the gunwale to shout up at Jack on _the Pearl_ , “Why, if it isn’t the sorriest excuse for a pirate that ever did sail the Caribbean!”

Jack frowned a little, for once rather disinterested in childish name calling. “Sticks an’ stones, Vane. I think you know why I’m here.”

Charles held up a ring of keys, jangling them tauntingly. “You would like to have the contents of my brig, no doubt.”

Jack didn’t necessarily like the wording of Vane’s taunt. “She’d better be alive and well, Kit.”

“Oh, aye, fit as a fiddle,” said Vane with a dangerous twinkle in his eye. “A corpse wouldn’t be worth anything, now would it.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “I hope we can come to some arrangement. Seeing as you are a _tad_ outgunned here, I think your crew would be amenable to an exchange.”

Though the crew of the Ranger all shot Jack a dutiful glare, they didn’t exactly seem to disagree. Several paid uneasy glances in the direction of their Captain, and some went so far as to shoot a filthy look. It was then that Jack noticed Charles’ hand swathed in soiled linen bandages, and though it was hard to tell from that distance, the arm looked rather swollen. Lizzy had really done a number on him, it appeared.

“You might outgun us, you poufy cur, but you can be damn sure my boys won’t go down without taking some of you with us!” _His boys_ did not seem to be terrible enthused about the prospect, and Charles paid a glance over his shoulder. Jack realized he was rather aware of the unpopularity of the prospect, and that his captaincy possibly hung in the balance. “So, I have a proposition for ye!”

“Aye?”

“We both know this is really between you an’ me. So let’s have it out like real men, Sparrow. A proper duel, pistols and swords.”

Though he didn’t really fancy a swordfight with the likes of Charles Vane, Jack felt that he might have a chance with the state of that arm. “Terms?”

Charles grinned broadly, his eyes gleaming with a mania that put Jack on edge. “You think I would fight you just for blood? To the death, Sparrow, and winner takes all.”

Jack glanced at his crew, his loveable rag tag lot of misfits who stood so bravely at the ready, fully prepared to take on Vane’s troop of killers for the sake of seeing Lizzy safe. If there was a proper fight some of them undoubtedly would get hurt, and possibly even die. It was a risk he could not bring himself to take.

“Very well, Captain Vane. We have an accord.”

“Are ye sure about this, Cap’n?” asked Gibbs low, clearly worried. Jack was a decent shot but not, in fact, the best swordsman. He depended on showmanship and trickery more than actual mastery of a blade in a swordfight. Vane would not be an easy mark.

“Aye. Look at that arm, he’s mad with fever. I’ll be alright, Gibbs.”

Gibbs still did not seem convinced, but the hoist with the longboat was made ready anyway. They would duel on the sands of Jawbone Key, with both their crews in attendance.

Up close, Charles Vane looked like hell. Angry purple streaks shot up out of the bandage on his hand, and his eyes were bright with fever. It seemed to make him even crazier than usual, which could go either way for Jack, really.

They stood back to back with pistols at the ready, and at the signal walked out twenty paces before turning to fire. Jack did not move his feet from their place, but instinctively wobbled as was his usual wont. Vane’s bullet whistled past his ear, and he knew it had probably saved his life.

“You scurvy—” Vane’s words halted as Jack fired his own pistol, but the shot went wild, and the ball grazed his infected arm. Vane still fell over, howling with pain. “Son of a bitch!”

Jack collected his sword from his second, Gibbs of course, and made ready as Vane scrambled back to his feet and clasped his cutlass in hand. The captain of the Pearl wasn’t exactly keen on killing—he never was. Until he thought on what Vane had tried to do to Lizzy, and then the prospect seemed infinitely more appealing. He recalled her fear, the way that brave woman had wept in his arms, having lost everything all over again because she would not let a man who was not her choice possess her. His grip tightened on his cutlass, a cold resolve settling over him. Vane could not leave this beach alive.

Vane came at him with a howl, and their blades clashed hard, jarring Jack’s teeth. In peak form Vane was a power to be reckoned with in a boarding, no doubt. But, the Captain of the Ranger was unsteady on his feet and tiring easily. Jack managed to deflect and dodge Vane’s vicious blows, certain he was winning the upper hand. But their footing in the sand was unpredictable at best, and unexpectedly Jack’s foot slipped.

Vane slashed, catching Jack across the ribs. The cut seared like fire, and Jack’s hand flew to his side. With a second wind Vane advanced, using the last of his strength in his attack, trying to cleave Sparrow in two. Jack pretended to slip again, and when Vane lunged for the opening Jack was ready. Somehow, Vane hardly made a sound as Jack put his blade in Vane’s belly, all the way to the hilt. The stricken pirate slid slowly to his knees with a quiet groan, his own sword falling from his hand.

He did not curse Sparrow or spout his usual venom. He smiled, a wide baring of teeth stained with his own blood. With carefully controlled movements Vane reached into his vest pocket, withdrawing the keys he’d brandished earlier. He gave a gurgling laugh that was more like a consumptive’s cough. “Here you are, Sparrow. Won it fair and square, damn your eyes.”

Then he began to laugh. A crazy, high keening laugh that sent chills down Jack’s spine.

Something was wrong.

Vane’s haunting mirth followed Jack as he snatched up the keys, and ran for the longboat. Gibbs, Ana Maria, and four other Pearls flanked him, and together they hauled for _the Ranger._ The remaining crew upon the Pearl had watched the outcome of the duel on the beach, and stood at the ready to fire upon _the Ranger_ should anyone seek to break their deal.

Jack scrambled up the ladder and onto the deck of _the Ranger,_ immediately pressing a crew member of the Ranger into showing them the brig with the persuasion of a loaded pistol pointed at his head. As they descended the companionway into the bowels of the ship Jack tried to keep the worst case scenarios at bay, but now they flooded his imagination. Was she barely alive down there? Beaten and battered and used in every way a woman could be at the mercy of a band of cutthroats like the Rangers?

Could she be not alive at all?

An awful feeling settled like a blob of tar in Jack’s gut and he trembled with dread. The crewmember seemed to notice Jack’s tension with wide eyes, and tried to talk him down. “Easy on that trigger, mate. Brig’s over there.”

In anguish Jack rushed forward, peering desperately through the shadows of the hold into the iron cage. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and frantically he looked back and forth, pacing the length of the bars. Finally he emitted an angry bellow, striking the metal bars with his palm.

It seemed Charles Vane got one last dig in on Sparrow before he died.

The brig was empty.


	13. How Innocent They Had Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation long in the making.

Elizabeth languished in her cell in _the Ranger_ for what felt like an eternity, but in truth wasn’t long at all. The unending duration undoubtedly was influenced by the head injuries she’d received, and her lack of sleep. Upon recalling Doctor Thorne’s inappropriate but interesting expostulation on the treatment of head wounds at a dinner party, Elizabeth tried to keep herself awake in the fear that she just might not rise again. She would be _damned_ if Charles Vane’s two-bit goons managed to kill her, after _everything_ else she’d been through.

She held out, singing songs to herself to stay awake. Songs she had sung in the _Coq d’Or_ with Jack and his crew, and it made her feel simultaneously happy and low to call up those memories. She wondered if she would ever see Jack Sparrow again. Perhaps she would be allowed to write him a letter before she was hanged, and she could tell him that she loved him, and how sorry she was for being a perfect little twit when all he’d wanted was to keep her safe. It all seemed so silly now, and she would have paid a king’s ransom just to be in his arms one last time. She didn’t dare hope for a rescue. In fact, she prayed he wouldn’t try it. He’d only _barely_ cheated the noose the last time he’d come to her aid. To lose him to execution _now_ …she could not bear it.

Thinking of Jack was not the most productive thing, as it made her want to cry, and that only seemed to make her head hurt worse. As a matter of self-preservation she shoved her thoughts of him down, _deep down._

Her dizziness persisted, accompanied by fits of nausea. She did her best to project her vomit outside the iron cage where the Rangers would have a nasty surprise of it in the walkway. Elizabeth did not get to enjoy their disgust when they finally came to fetch her, as they quickly yanked her to her feet. “Time to go, girly,” one informed her in a gravelly voice. She was given no time to collect herself, or even hardly a chance to move on her own power as they half carried her with iron grips her arms up the companionway.

The bright sunlight hit Elizabeth like another blow, and she flinched away, several unladylike words escaping her mouth. The pirates just laughed and led her to the side, where she was unceremoniously dumped in a bosun’s chair and lowered to the waiting longboat.

There on the beach, two figures in navy blue uniforms and a handful in crimson red awaited. The tall form in the center belonged to a man she could _never_ forget, and immediately her heart began to pound double-time in her chest. When brought to stand before him she did her best to appear nonplussed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m _almost_ glad to see you, Commodore Norrington.”

Dutifully he nodded in acknowledgement, as though they were taking tea in her father’s drawing room, and not amidst a hostage exchange on a spit of an island in the middle of the Caribbean. Elizabeth could read nothing in his expression. Not anger or reluctance or even happiness to see her. Whatever polite thing he intended to say in greeting, however, died on his tongue, replaced by a darkly forbidding look. “What did you do to her face?” he demanded of Charles Vane, who stood by with the smug expression of a cat who ate _all_ the cream.

“If you can imagine, Commodore, she didn’t come quietly. We were lucky not to have been shot by this fierce little chit, I hear.” The last was delivered with a smirk that won the pirate captain a dirty look. James clenched his jaw, some retaliation clearly boiling within him, and suddenly Elizabeth feared this could all end in a bloody skirmish on the beach, rather than her leaving Vane and _the Ranger_ far behind her.

_Bloody stupid men and all their egotistical grandstanding._

“James?” The world seemed to go still as she addressed this powerful man by his Christian name. He turned to her, his expression unreadable but for the question in his emerald green eyes.

“Yes, Elizabeth?” It seemed to take a great deal of effort for him to say her name, though inexplicably there was no rancor in it.

“Will you take me home?”

Just for a moment she witnessed the phenomenon: James Norrington softened, vulnerability clear as day upon his well-made features. “Of course, my lady.” Decisively James nodded to Lieutenant Groves, who handed over a heavy leather bag filled with clinking coins. The pirate who received it looked inside, and whistled with appreciation. A chuckle moved through the crowd of Vane’s crew like a wave, and the Marines clutched their muskets more tightly in response.

Elizabeth held up her manacled wrists to be unlocked. Vane himself withdrew the key from his waistcoat. “I’ll miss you, darlin’,” he taunted as he worked the lock, and she could not suppress a sigh of relief as one heavy metal bracelet clicked free, then the other. She also could not help but notice Vane’s infected arm was only getting worse. She could smell the festering rot emanating from beneath his bandage, and knew his only hope now would be to have the lower half of his arm amputated. It did not surprise her in the least that Vane was the sort to resist such a remedy, and she hoped he would have a painful death indeed.

“Rot in hell, Charles,” she said sweetly, and his laughter trailed after her as she crossed the proverbial line in the sand to stand with the men of the Royal Navy. What an unexpected twist in her life. She stumbled a little in a loose pocket of sand, and immediately James reached out to catch her.

Elizabeth stiffened at his large hands upon her shoulders, a small sound escaping her, and immediately the Commodore released her, as though he’d been burned. He might have even said a foul word under his breath, before offering his apologies. Elizabeth waved it off, trying to pretend that the touch of the man who had murdered her first love in a matter of honor did not jar her. However, ever so faintly, her body began to tremble.

Quite aware of the tension between his commander and this woman, despite the exchange just made, Groves was quick to step forward, offering Elizabeth his arm gallantly as though they were entering a ballroom. “Miss Swann, would you permit me to assist you?”

Elizabeth offered the Lieutenant a watered down smile, aware that his loyalties were _quite_ torn here on this beach. “Thank you, Lieutenant Groves. That would be most kind of you.” The words came easily from her mouth, polite and cultured, such a contrast to her wild outward appearance now. She laced her arm with Theo’s, and they followed their tall Commander across the beach, back to the longboat that would ferry them to _the Dauntless._ Just as Elizabeth predicted, she swayed in the gentle swells of the harbor, all her gun ports open and trained upon the Ranger in readiness for any piratical shenanigans.

She truly was a sight to behold in all her splendor, mighty and elegant. How strange that this ship that had ferried her across an ocean from England to the Caribee would now bear her home again.

Elizabeth heard one of the Marines mutter under his breath behind them, “ _We ain’t going to tie her up?_ ” She was equally mystified, but wasn’t exactly keen to bring it up. Was she a prisoner or a guest? The latter seemed an impossible development, considering.

James let Groves help Elizabeth into the boat, and made a point to sit so that their legs would not brush. For the life of her Elizabeth could not think of any pleasantries appropriate for this situation, so they sat in silence as the cox’n guided them back to _the Dauntless._ James pointedly avoided her gaze, and she was grateful for it.

Once aboard James sighed, an uncharacteristic indecisiveness about him. But in the end he bit the bullet, gesturing towards his cabin. “I took the liberty of bringing some of your old clothes, if you would like to change.”

Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow, ready to dig in her heels. Why were all the men around her always trying to put her into a fucking frock? “Thank you, but I don’t wear dresses anymore.”

James looked her up and down, clearly unimpressed by her pirate togs, though there was something else in his eyes she could not read. Her clothes really weren’t in that bad of shape, having been purchased new in Jack’s spree of acquiring new things for her.

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

Elizabeth just laughed bitterly. “I hate to tell you, Commodore, but I’ve been through a lot fucking worse than _anything_ you might do to me, especially over my _clothing_.”

His mouth tightened, but wisely he declined to comment further. “Very well. If you would accompany me to my quarters, Miss Swann. I believe we have much to discuss in private.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. What more could they possibly have to say?

“Fancy a rematch?” she snarked, feeling infinitely braver now that _the Ranger_ seemed small as a cutter below them. “I warn you, I’m a far better shot now.”

James released a long-suffering sigh, but in the end the tiniest of smiles tugged at the severe line of his mouth. “I believe you. And as much as I would deserve it, another duel is not what I have in mind. If you please?” He gestured for her to walk ahead of him again, knowing she would undoubtedly remember her way to the great cabin very well. She’d spent enough time there as a youth on the crossing, pestering James for stories, plying his collection of books, and begging him to play chess with her. A few times, he’d even relented.

The memory of the little girl she had been—and the young man _he_ had been—hit Elizabeth like a ball to the chest. How _innocent_ they had been. If they had known then what they would become now… Useless thoughts, she scolded herself. They couldn’t change the past. Annoyed at herself, she blinked away the moisture in her eyes, covering her surge of emotion with a brusque manner. “Fine,” she ground out between gritted teeth, stalking past. “Let’s have a _little chat_. Shall we ring for tea as well?”

After giving an order for the ship’s surgeon to join them in the great cabin James actually had to hurry on his long legs to catch up to her, and only just managed to reach the door first to hold it open for her. She bobbed in an ironic little curtsey before striding into the day cabin. She cast a restless glance around, and little had changed since last she’d been there. Books still lined the walls in cupboards that locked so as not to spill their contents on rough seas. Charts and maps filled baskets in the corner. A large table sat in the center of the room, his desk, which was covered with the usual accoutrements. Quill, ink pot, sander, and all the nautical instruments necessary for navigation. A neat stack of papers was held down by a seemingly incongruous paperweight: an ugly old shell, its surface worn to rough white by years of bumping along on the sand, a barnacle affixed doggedly to the top of it.

Elizabeth froze at the sight of that shell, for she had given it to James after visiting a beach for the very first time on Jamaica, when she was only a girl. She had returned to the governor’s mansion in a salt-stained frock with an exasperated nurse and a burlap sack filled with what she reckoned at the time to be _priceless_ treasures. Shells of every shape and size, strange rocks, and pieces of coral. James, who had been there to discuss business with her father, had looked them over with her with exceptional gravity, agreeing in all her assessments of the value of her horde. She’d given him this shell because it was the biggest one, a true prize in the eyes of a ten year old girl.

Elizabeth covered her mouth with a hand, as though she could physically hold this surge of emotion inside her body, and not allow it out into the world for anyone to see. “You kept it.”

James smiled sadly, and pulled out a chair for her in invitation. “Of course. It is a _fine_ paperweight.”

Feeling deflated all over again, Elizabeth accepted the proffered chair, and watched as James moved to take the seat opposite her. He folded elegant hands upon the blotter, his eyes cast down before him.

It seemed neither of them knew where to begin.

After a long awkward silence James finally said, “Your father will be so relieved, Elizabeth. He has been beside himself with worry.”

Elizabeth chewed on her lip, and closed her eyes against another wave of misery. She had missed her father _so much._ “How is he?”

“Well. Well as a man can be, who has lost his only daughter.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I did not think it prudent to write, given my status as an outlaw,” she admitted.

“Understandable, I suppose. We searched everywhere for you. I confess I am impressed you evaded us this long.”

“You searched everywhere but Tortuga, apparently.”

A small laugh filled with disbelief escaped him. “ _Indeed_.”

A bit of heat reentered her words when she asked, “Did you even think on what sort of men you would be unleashing on me with that bloody reward? I was quite content in my life before Vane snatched me from my home.” Maybe the details were a _little_ skewed, but mostly it was true. Unbidden, a vision of Jack rose in her mind’s eye, his laughing dark eyes and what he would think of this exchange. He would find it all rather amusing, no doubt. The pang that came with the thought of him stung too much, and she shoved it back down with all the other things she didn’t want to think about right then.

“It was a last resort, I assure you.”

She pointed at her blackened eye. “And it all went off _so_ well.”

“I am sorry about that. The surgeon should be here shortly. I did not think even pirates would do you harm, with that much gold at stake.”

“I put up too much of a fight for their tastes, I suppose. It was easier to bludgeon me with an oar.”

James frowned at the revelation. “My God. Elizabeth…”

She held up a staying hand. The _last_ thing she wanted was sympathy from _this_ man. Her sleeve fell back, and James noticed the oleander bloom tattooed beneath her skin. “What the devil is that?” he asked.

Elizabeth held up her hand, sliding back her sleeve to display her delicate wrist. And then with an impish streak she went further, pulling back her other sleeve to show the sword piercing a heart, and her collar to reveal first the compass rose at her shoulder, and finally, the sparrow below her collarbone. “You don’t like my marks, James? Don’t you think they will go handsomely with the season’s latest fashion? Are French three-quarter sleeves still all the rage?”

James could not believe she had allowed some tar to mark her skin permanently with a filthy needle, marring her unearthly beauty forever. “ _Why_ would you do that to yourself?”

“Somehow it’s easier to bear the scars I carry on the inside, when I wear them on the outside,” she assured him bitterly. “It’s how I survived, and it’s how I made my coin on Tortuga. All those drawing lessons finally put to good use. Father will be so proud.”

James, however, only grimaced, and the disapproval alone in his expression made the tattoos worth it. Fun as these games were, however, Elizabeth wanted answers to a bigger question. “Why am I not in shackles, James?”

“You have been pardoned.”

She blinked with surprise, slumping a little in her chair. She’d been _so certain_ she was headed for gaol and a noose. “ _How_?”

He dared look at her then, turning those brilliant green eyes up to hers. “Without a victim to press charges there was no resistance to the Governor’s efforts to draw one up. I wouldn’t advise returning to England, but in the outpost of Jamaica it should hold.”

The meaning of all that dawned on Elizabeth, and she must have resembled a fish out of water for a long time with her mouth gaping wide open. “But I _shot_ you.”

The corner of James’ mouth twitched before he looked away, the bulkhead behind her suddenly appearing _very_ interesting to the Commodore. “I know. I was there. You even almost killed me.” A long silence drew out between them, before James added quietly, “You had every right to kill me. If there was any justice in this world I would have died.”

Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest. It all seemed so long ago, and yet somehow with James before her, the wound still seemed so _fresh._

“Elizabeth…I will not ask your forgiveness, because I do not deserve it. But I will not press charges, and I am so sorry for what I did to you. I was not myself that day. I was mad with grief, with the loss of you—I _loved_ you.” A small pained laugh escaped him. “What a buggery I made of everything! I never even told you _that_ , did I? I _loved_ you, and that boy—”

Bewilderment and a hot burst of anger exploded within Elizabeth. That he had loved her was not so great a surprise, and she even believed that James was sorry, and yet he was not sorry for the _right_ reasons. He regretted what he had done to _her,_ but not what he had stolen from _Will._ He still did not see the blacksmith as worthy of regret.

Ironically enough, if she’d known James Norrington was the sort of man who would fight a duel for love she would have found him _infinitely_ more interesting when he was courting her. He’d always seemed so removed, so far away. Who knew he simply hid all this emotion behind an impenetrable façade? She’d fancied him once, until her attempts to break through his shell became too exhausting, and her attentions turned to the easier mark that was the blacksmith Will Turner.

Elizabeth shot up from her chair, sending it flying back. “How _dare_ you,” she seethed. “Speaking to me of regret when you are still not truly sorry _. That boy’s_ name was William. _William Turner_ and you shot him down like he was _nothing_.”

James bore her fury with his characteristic stoicism, his face revealing very little. Only his downcast eyes, and the set of his mouth, suggested that he heard her words, and felt them. Breathing heavily, she watched him warily as the Commodore pushed to his feet, crossing the cabin to stand before her. She could have been pushed over by a feather when he took her hand and dropped to his knees at her feet. “I know I cannot make it up to you, or to him. He did not deserve his fate. I am certain, however, that I will burn in Hell for what I have done. With all my heart, Elizabeth, please believe that I am sorry. My God, I am _so sorry_.”

Frozen, she looked down at this powerful man crumbled at her feet. Her heart of stone held fast, and she felt the urge to kick him while he was down. It was the least he deserved. How _dare_ he?

But then thoughts of _Will_ flooded her. Will, that guileless boy. Her sweet, good, fiancé, who never raised a hand to anything but a hot piece of iron on an anvil until the pirates came to Port Royal. What would Will have done?

With a flash of shock, Elizabeth realized that Will would have forgiven James. He would have given that boyish smile, so sad and beautiful, and moved on. _An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind._ He’d said it often, trying to temper her when she seethed from some perceived slight. Prostrate at her feet, she now saw an essentially good man who had done a _terrible_ thing. Will would have found it in that vast heart of gold to offer absolution to a suffering man.

Elizabeth was not like Will, truth be told. She was fierce and vengeful at her worst, with a long memory for anyone who had ever crossed her. Yet once the door opened, her memories of Will would not stop their forward march through her mind’s eye. The sparkle in his gentle brown eyes. His hands, so strong and rough from hard work, and yet he could be gentle as a lamb, delicate as a butterfly when he touched her. The sound of his voice when he whispered words of love in her ear. She felt it all, let it all wash through her, all the things she had shoved down to a dungeon so deep inside that they never should have seen the light of day again.

_How innocent they had been._

How innocent and foolish they _all_ had been.

Slowly Elizabeth reached out to touch James’ head, her trembling fingers sliding down his cheek. She found a telltale wetness there, and her heart of stone cracked in two. He leaned into her touch, and she slid to her knees with James. With his hand clenched in hers she wept for the boy who she had loved with all her heart, for the man who had loved her with all of his, and for the girl she had been that was yanked from her fairytale by the harshest possible awakening.

“ _I’m sorry for the pain I caused you_ ,” she finally whispered. That soft hoarse tone was all she could manage, for she was utterly exhausted in body, heart, and soul. “ _And I am glad you did not succumb to your wound, James. I am sorry_.”

“You need _never_ apologize to the likes of _me,_ my lady.”

They knelt together on the rug for what could have been minutes, hours, or days, for all the handle Elizabeth had on time in this state of intense emotional collapse. Had the surgeon burst in he would have found an absurd scene of their Commodore on the ground with this governor’s daughter turned pirate wench. But no unwelcome interruptions came, and it was James who moved first. As though he knew all too well how tired she was, James scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the cushioned seat beneath the bank of aft windows. “Get some rest, Elizabeth. We’ll be home soon. I promise.”

He covered her with a blanket and left her to doze, and in no time she drifted into a sleep so deep not even dreams could touch her.


	14. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to a head.

Elizabeth had slept like the dead for several hours, and then upon rising returned to the deck. Understandably she avoided James, who oversaw the workings of his ship from the quarterdeck. She chatted a little with Groves at the gunwale, and then even went to mingle with the crew before the mast, engaging those who were off watch with conversation, and joined them in a song.

She _laughed,_ the notes travelling across the decks clear as the bell, and the unexpected sound of joy sent gooseflesh marching across James’ skin. That she _could—_ after everything that had happened to that woman, that she could still find the strength within herself to feel happiness filled the Commodore with an acute sense of _relief_.

All was not lost.

She would be alright.

But perhaps he should not have been so surprised that she managed to rise above her troubles. She was a strong, intelligent woman, as she had demonstrated numerous times, the least of which being the resourceful orchestration of his attempted murder.

Just a _little_ to the left, and she would have been _quite_ successful in taking his life.

For a time, he’d wished that he would have succumbed to his wound. It would have been his just deserts for behaving as such a _perfect_ savage. Perhaps the blacksmith’s death had been sanctioned by the code of gentlemanly conduct, even considered _honorable_ by his peers who disliked a peasant like William Turner rising above his station to marry a prize such as Elizabeth Swann, but in his heart James knew he’d committed an _inexcusable_ atrocity.

Worse yet, he hardly remembered _any_ of it now, the horrible deed executed in a state of near _madness_. He recalled neither the gunshot nor the blow by sword that took the boy’s life. It was a phenomenon many soldiers experienced in battle, this loss of memory under extreme duress, but James reckoned his mind refused to recall it due to the pure _shame_ inherent in the deed.

He had contemplated doing himself a harm more than once after his slow recovery. The desolate look upon Weatherby’s face alone was enough to send him to a bottle, and he had begun to drink too much behind closed doors the past few years. But rather than forsake his life in penance, he had made it his mission to bring Elizabeth home to her father. After several fruitless searches throughout the Caribbean and even the American colonies, the reward had been a gamble and a last resort that luckily yielded fruit rather than more tragedy.

James felt a sort of jealousy for the men below, who she so easily mingled with after her time amongst even rougher tars on Tortuga. It was completely unfounded, of course. Even if she had somewhat forgiven him, they could never have a friendship again, and especially not the sort James truly longed for.

After all these years and even nearly dying at her hands, James Norrington still loved Elizabeth Swann.

It was a love that could never _ever_ be requited, and the triumph of her recovery mixed with this certainty left him feeling strangely _empty_ , despite it all. It also made him itch for a drink, which was a vice he knew better than to indulge when on duty. One drink led to two and two to four and then before he knew it he would wake up from a cramped sleep someplace he was not supposed to be. Which was one thing when it was his own garden but upon _the Dauntless_ would be an intolerable embarrassment.

Later, he noticed that Mister Andrews, his bosun, had a rather fresh looking tattoo of an anchor between his first finger and thumb. Elizabeth could ply her unlikely trade even on a navy ship, it seemed. James almost thought to say something of it, but in the end let it go. If it made her happy she could tattoo anchors and compass roses upon the men’s _foreheads_ , for all he cared. He resolved that he would meddle no more.

The barometer was dropping, and through hard-won experience and that scientific indicator James knew there was a storm to be weathered ahead. Soon the dark clouds gathered in sight, an angry black wall that he did not like the look of at all. However, it was a different cry from aloft that set the hairs on the back of his neck at attention. “Sails!” bellowed the man up in the crow’s nest. “Black sails, ho!”

James went to the gunwale, a frown upon his brow as he produced his glass. Sure as day, a ship with black sails trailed behind them, and appeared to be gaining fast. Why on earth would Jack Sparrow court a _Navy_ ship in these waters, after his last brush with _the Dauntless_?

Immediately his gaze fixed on Elizabeth, who like many others leaned over the gunwale for a better view of the approaching ship. As though she could feel his stare upon her, Elizabeth turned to look to the quarterdeck. When their eyes met a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a flash of lightning split the sky.

 

**XXX**

 

“Cap’n, I don’t like the look of them clouds we’re sailin’ into. It’s hurricane season.”

Jack paid Gibbs a cursory glance before returning to his glass, _the Dauntless_ in his sights.

“That ain’t no hurricane, Mister Gibbs.”

Jack wasn’t actually sure about that. But there was one thing he was sure of. _Lizzy_ was on that ship. He knew it, knew it in his _bones._

He knew it because at last his compass no longer spun in crazy circles, but pointed steadfastly in the direction of that damned first rate up ahead. If he could only catch up to it, he could have her in his arms again…

How he planned to take on that Royal behemoth boasting 100 blasted guns was another matter entirely, but he would think of something. He always did.

“Norrington strikes me as a cautious sort. He will heave to and ride it out. If we can gain the distance between us with even just _a little_ sail while she’s standing still…Could give us the advantage.”

Gibbs paid his captain that particular look that bespoke _Are you bloody daft?_

But then it faded as the brilliance of the caper dawned, a determined smile pulling at his mouth. “Aye, Cap’n. We just might get the drop on ‘er yet.”

 

**XXX**

 

“Would it be a sound presumption that Sparrow is pursuing you?” asked James, as Elizabeth scaled the steps of the quarterdeck.

“That might be correct.”

“Dare I ask why?”

 _He loves me?_ Elizabeth hardly dared to even _think_ it, and yet the evidence suggested…

_Oh God, Jack. Turn around while you still can._

“I’m sure he thinks you mean to hang me,” she evaded.

The wind had picked up considerably, making it hard to hear one another. Frantically the crew ran about the deck, tying down everything that could be lashed, and making good on Norrington’s order to reef the sails.

James frowned and almost denounced the notion as foolishness, until he realized to an outsider that would seem quite the logical conclusion.

“And that would distress Jack Sparrow?” A man who by James’ reckoning only cared for himself. Yet there was so much evidence to the contrary, beginning with the very first day he entered her life by plucking her from the jaws of death in the harbor of Port Royal.

Elizabeth didn’t know how to tell this man that she had fallen in love with his arch enemy, or that the pirate just might return the sentiment.

“So it would seem.”

“Will he fire upon us?”

“Not if you let me go.”

“Release you? To _him_?” The very notion offended the Commodore to the soles of his boots. “I promised I would return you _home_. And so I shall, or die trying.” The stubborn determination in his words bordered on mania, and it occurred to Elizabeth that perhaps this mission smacked of redemption for James Norrington, as much as delivering her from an uncertain lifestyle on a pirate island. Did he really believe that if he could just return her to her father than his sins would be atoned? If only their lives could be so simplified.

“James…” Elizabeth dared touch his arm, and the Commodore jumped as though she’d prodded him with a hot iron. She realized there was no way to tell him that would not shock or infuriate him—she just had to say it. “I _love_ him.”

Horrified, James looked to her, his eyes locked with hers. He remembered the sparrow tattoo upon her chest which she’d so brazenly displayed to him, and suddenly understood. “You have allied yourself with _that_ rum-pot scamp of a pirate?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “At this point I don’t think _you_ get to throw stones at my choice in liaisons, _Commodore._ ”

But James could not stop shaking his head. “I cannot…I _cannot_ , Elizabeth!”

“You said I was pardoned!”

“You are.”

She fought not to shout. It would get her nowhere with this man, who though was one of the most intelligent individuals she’d ever known, could still somehow be so _daft_. “Then you have no right to hold me against my will.”

A long silence passed between them.

“What of your father?” demanded James, making a grab for his hat as a gust of wind tried to claim it.

“He will understand.”

“That I have put you in the hands of _pirates?_ In the hands of _Jack Sparrow?_ Surely you appreciate the dilemma you present me? Impossible, Elizabeth. Simply i _mpossible._ ”

Elizabeth ground her teeth, her fist clenching in frustration as she tried to reason with this man. “You know Jack is no ordinary pirate. He’s good to me, James.” Even if she wasn’t always so good to him. “Put me in a longboat with a lantern and I will meet _the Pearl_ halfway. You may simply put in your report that I escaped or jumped overboard.”

“You want me to put you in a jollyboat, _alone,_ in this storm? Are you out of your damned mind?” He had to shout to be heard over the crashing waves and wind, though he would have shouted these words anyway.

Elizabeth’s face fell. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt on my account. Enough blood has been spilled. _More_ than enough.”

James sighed, and as the ship rocked violently on a tall wave steadied Elizabeth with a hand on her arm. This time she did not flinch at his touch, and somehow that gave him strength. “For now, I think you’d best go below. We’re in for a flogging until this storm blows through.”

She could see that she would not budge him in this moment, so she did as he asked.

For now.

 

**XXX**

 

The next six hours passed like a sojourn in Hell, the wind howling all around, the rain pounding down so hard it was impossible tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. Despite all this, Jack doggedly kept on sail, just _enough_ to keep the Pearl moving even as the storm tossed her about.

 _She’ll hold,_ he told himself, thinking of his _Pearl_ and his Lizzy in the same thought.

Little by little, _the Pearl_ made progress, riding out the swells and kept on course by the Captain himself at the helm, doggedly glued to the steady heading his compass provided.

By the time the storm broke night had fallen, and a mist obstructed their vision even further. Jack had no way of knowing just yet where the storm had landed them, but with any luck the Dauntless was not too far ahead now, and hove to until the break of dawn. An idea struck him. “Douse the lamps!” he hissed to the men on watch, and with puzzled expressions they did as their captain asked, rendering the black ship invisible in the night.

“What’s your plan, Cap’n?” Gibbs dared ask.

“She can’t be far ahead now,” mused Jack. “She _can’t._ ” Jack continued to regale Gibbs with his plan, and though his first mate clearly thought him daft once more, his greying eyebrows raised high, there was a _chance_ it could work. If anyone could pull it off, it was Captain Jack Sparrow.

 

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth waited out the storm in the great cabin of _the Dauntless,_ the most comfortable place to retire on the ship. The storm tossed them about far too much to read, but James’ cushioned leather desk chair was a luxury beneath her bones. James remained topside with his men for the duration of the gale, keeping a close eye on the state of _the Dauntless_ as the storm had her way with them. The angry sea had a way of humbling the greatest ships—and their captains—with a squall.

Though she was not terribly frightened throughout the blow, having faith in _the Dauntless_ ’ ability to weather the storm, as she had many others, Elizabeth was relieved when the seas calmed and the winds ceased to howl outside. Norrington still did not retreat from the quarterdeck; she could hear his commanding voice above, and with a yawn she gave a thought to commandeering his berth as well. Surely he did not mean to put her in a hammock with the rest of the jack tars? She could tell that he could hardly stand her mingling with them in the daytime, much less sleeping amongst them at night.

Suddenly the ship lurched, as though they had hit something. A sandbar? A reef? Could the storm have blown them that far off course? But then there was a furious commotion above, shouting and shuffling off the starboard side of the ship.

She dared think that she recognized some of those voices, and one in particular made her heart _leap_ with joy. Could it be? Was it _possible_?

Ah, but he _was_ Captain Jack Sparrow.

Gleeful as a child on Christmas morning, she darted from the great cabin, pushing past confused crew just woken and taking the steps of the companionway in twos with her long legs pumping. Upon deck she let lose a shriek of delight, laughing with disbelief.

It was _the Pearl,_ brought alongside _the Dauntless_ with grappling hooks, effectively latched on as a remora to a shark.

All her crew stood at the ready, holding the men of _the Dauntless_ at gunpoint. Canons undoubtedly were also ready to fire down below. Marty standing upon the gunwale with his blunderbuss brought a particular sparkle to her eyes, and Ana Maria looked fierce as any goddess of war could ever boast with pistol and cutlass both drawn.

Elizabeth’s mirth died as her eyes found the captains of these two fine vessels also locked in deadly impasse, pistols trained steadily upon each other. Her heart fell to her feet, and panic rose in a choking wave to the back of her throat.

_Oh God, not again._

“Hallo there, Lizzy,” greeted Jack. “Norry an’ I were just having a little debate as to which ship you would rather be on. I may be biased, but my vote’s on _the Pearl._ What say you, love?”

With her hands raised she dared to slowly walk towards James, whose jaw was stubbornly set, his eyes glinting like green steel. “I would say that is correct, Jack.”

She could tell that James was grinding his teeth, and Jack looked equally dead set, his midnight eyes glinting dangerously.

“And may I remind you that a whole lot of your men will die unnecessarily if you do not yield, Commodore?” added the pirate captain.

“Maybe I don’t believe you would really do it,” deadpanned James. “Paint the deck red with the blood of innocent men? It’s not your style, Sparrow.”

“Innocent is all in the eyes of the beholder. I think a bloke named Confucius said that. And ask Charles Vane about my _style_ , before next making an assumption about me,” growled Jack in return.

“What does that mean?”

“Means he’s dead, and you will be too if you don’t hand her over. You’ll have to fill your gibbet with someone else back in Port Royal.”

“I am taking her _home,_ Captain Sparrow, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Sparrow seemed to consider this with a puzzled expression. He’d expected some rhetoric about a criminal being taken to justice—he certainly hadn’t expected her to pop out from below so easily, having free reign of the ship.

It did not appear Norrington intended to hang Lizzy after all.

“Jack _is_ my home,” insisted Elizabeth, and Jack couldn’t help but stand up a little taller at hearing _that_ from her own lips. A strange medley of anxiety and elation mingled in his blood, a sweet and terrible potion that had him on a knife’s edge. He badly wished this foolish Navy dog would just admit when he was beat so they could all go home.

“James _please_ , put down the gun,” entreated Elizabeth softly.

If anything, however, James’ grip on the trigger only seemed to tighten, and Elizabeth’s heart with it. This man was on the verge of breaking, and if that happened more men were going to die.

_If something happened to Jack because of her…_

She would end it all. She simply would not have the will to go on.

“You cannot atone for the past by repeating the mistakes that damned you in the first place. You _must_ let me go.”

Slowly she stepped up to the Commodore, and dared to put her hand over the barrel of his pistol. Immediately his finger flew from the trigger, his eyes too wide as he looked down at her. Only this close could she see that the man trembled, and she pitied him. She never thought she would feel compassion for the man who ruined her life years ago, who _took_ Will’s life, but her heart went out to James Norrington.

“Will would have forgiven you, James,” she said, lowering the gun. He let her, of course. There was not a chance in the world she could have out-muscled him, but in this strange moment he became meek as a lamb in body, though the storm still raged on in his eyes. He let her take the gun, and she held it by the barrel. “And _I_ forgive you,” she went on, placing a hand upon his chest, just over his heart. She could feel his pulse beating wildly through his soaked shirt. “Now, you just must forgive _yourself_.”

Lightly she touched his cheek, before beginning to back away towards Jack.

“And what shall I tell your father?” the Commodore finally asked. “It will kill him to know he was so close to regaining you, only to lose you again to _pirates_.”

It would mean admitting that Jack Sparrow had outwitted James _again,_ which was a dish the Commodore surely would not savor. But just maybe he would eat this crow, if it also tasted of redemption.

Elizabeth glanced up at Jack, her brave handsome Jack, who had undoubtedly risked _everything_ to pull off this daring rescue. His ship. His crew. His captaincy. She could see it _all_ in those soulful dark eyes. His determination. His worry. _And all his love_. Perhaps it was madness but she no longer had a single doubt in the world. She smiled a little up at him, a knowing curl of lips he returned. In that moment, she felt _invincible._

“Give my father my love, and tell him that I am happy,” she finally answered. “It shall be the truth.”

Elizabeth climbed up on the gunwale beside Jack, waiting for some signal from the Commodore that he would not force them to bring Hell to the decks of _the Dauntless_ in the pursuit of keeping a woman who did not wish to be kept.

James hardly recognized his own voice as he finally ceded, “Very well. I wish you all the best, Elizabeth Swann.”

“Likewise, James Norrington. Fair winds.”

The relief spreading through both the ships was _palpable,_ and Jack lost no time in looping an arm about Elizabeth’s waist and swinging them back over to _the Pearl_. Quickly their crew raced to cut the ropes that bound the two ships together, wanting to make an escape into the night before the Commodore changed his mind. Realizing she still held James’ pistol, Elizabeth tossed it overboard with a disgusted expression, wondering if it had been _the_ pistol that helped take Will’s life. Happily, she sent it to the depths, never to be fired again.

Once free of her moorings the Pearl caught the wind, and quickly they left _the Dauntless_ in their wake.

Stoically James watched them go, and Elizabeth raised a hand in farewell before Jack swept her up into a crushing embrace. Gladly she returned it, a shaky sigh that was part laughter and part sob escaping her. Now that they seemed to be in the clear she started to shake, and burrowed as close as she could to his skin, holding onto him as though he was the last sane thing in her world.

“You came for me,” she sighed against the skin of his throat.

“Aye, Lizzy. _We_ did.”

She glanced around then to the rest of the crew who looked upon she and their Captain with wide triumphant grins. With open arms she went to them next, and was passed from Ana Maria to Cotton to Gibbs to Marty and all the rest in hug after hug from her friends. _Her family._

She had a _family_ now, and she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such luck.

“Thank you,” she said over and over. “I cannot thank you all enough.”

“Thank the Cap’n,” said Gibbs with a twinkle in his eye. “He took on Vane man to man in a duel for ye. Cut ‘im down like the dog he was. When you weren’t in the brig we sacked _the Ranger_ , made a _pretty_ profit at it too, and then _he_ led us here through the gale.”

Elizabeth turned a disbelieving gaze to Jack. “But _how_? How did you find us, in that _terrible_ storm? It was brilliant!”

Jack paid her that shyster’s smirk that sent the most _delicious_ thrill through her bones. “Love. I’m _Captain_ Jack Sparrow.”

She launched herself upon him then, planting her lips on his in a torrid kiss without a care for the whole crew watching. There were wolf whistles and cat calls, though there was no malice in their teasing, all present quite pleased that the Captain had regained his girl. There would have been _no_ living with him, otherwise.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” she whispered when finally they parted, her forehead pressed to his. “I behaved like a perfect fat-head and I am _so damn sorry_.”

A smirk pulled at those too-fine-lips for the mouth of a pirate. “Me too, love. Me too. But maybe next time I infuriate ye…storm off to our cabin rather than the jaws of danger, eh? I would be much obliged.”

Elizabeth could not suppress her widening smile. “The next time, Captain Sparrow?”

“Aye. There will be a next time, I’m sure. Plenty of ‘em. But…would you believe me if I told you that I think I love you?”

She laughed then, and it was a sound filled with perfect _joy._ “After all this? Yes, I think I would believe you.”

“Excellent!” Jack snaked an arm about her waist, tugging her towards his cabin with a wolfish grin. “Gibbs, I have an undeniable and most urgent need to retire. You know what to do with all _this_ , eh?” _This_ was punctuated by a be-ringed hand waving towards the shrouds. “Thank you all kindly and goodnight, so on and so forth, and don’t send a search party until we’ve been gone more than three days...”

Elizabeth giggled at that parting shot and the crew’s knowing looks as Jack tugged her into his cabin and shut the door behind them, promptly pressing her against the portal and kissing her _silly._ Gladly, she returned his kiss, and knew with the utmost certainty one can only boast after a near-death experience that she _never_ wanted to be apart from him again.


	15. True North

Elizabeth gasped for breath after their torrid kiss, sighing happily as Jack’s lips trailed down the line of her throat. Her head rocked back to rest against the door, her eyes sliding closed contentedly. “Darling, you’re soaking wet,” she observed, concluding that he’d been out in the dreadful weather for hours in pursuit of _the Dauntless._

In pursuit of _her._ She could hardly fathom this was real.

“Isn’t that my line?” he said with a rogue curl of lips that filled her with _such_ joy.

“I’m serious. You’ll catch cold.” She began stripping him of his coat, the accoutrements in his sash, his belts, and finally his tunic. At the sight of a tear and a rusty stain upon his linen shirt she froze. “You’re hurt?” She lifted his shirt to find a neat swathe of bandages around his middle.

“Just a scratch, love. Cotton sewed me up nicely.” It had been far more than a scratch, actually, and after the duel he’d bled all over the deck of _the Ranger_ in his enraged inquisition of her crew, before Gibbs was finally able to convince him to accept a little patching up.

She thought back on what Gibbs had said. There was so much information to process all at once upon boarding the ship, it was all a blur. “You really dueled Charles Vane?”

 _For her_ rang unsaid.

“Aye.” There was a shadow in his eyes, and she knew he didn’t relish talking about it. Jack wasn’t the sort of pirate who took pride in killing a man, even if said man had it coming. “Looks like he left his mark on you too.” Gently he touched her brow where her bruise had turned a magnificent shade of eggplant.

“That’s the worst of it, luckily,” she assured him, closing her eyes to his tender touch. “And, you sacked the most prized vessel of the Royal Navy’s Caribbean squadron without firing a _single_ shot.”

His black eyes glittered with amusement, but also _something_ she could not name. In so many ways this man was still a mystery to her, and she knew she would relish the task of navigating his complexity for as long as he would let her sail his seas.

“So I did.”

Elizabeth hugged him again, this time conscious of the wound on Jack’s side. “Thank you,” she whispered again, kissing him behind the ear. It was then that she noticed the painting hanging proudly in his cabin, her likeness peering back at her through kohl rimmed eyes. “And you took Vane’s painting, I see.”

That part won a small chuckle from Jack. “Aye, and all the gold Norry traded for ye. Seemed only fair, considerin’.”

Elizabeth trembled with mirth, and pulled back to regard him. “But I still don’t understand how you were able to find me after that? In a storm, no less?” One might have thought it simply luck, but she knew better than that. Jack always had a trick up his sleeve.

Jack reached for his compass, pressing it into her hands. “I used this, Lizzy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The compass that points to the Isle de Muerte?”

Jack just shrugged, flipping open the lid. He held his breath as he watched the needle swing around, and then smiled wide as the needle doggedly pointed back in _his_ direction. He swayed to the left, and then the right, and like a hound on the scent of a fox the compass followed true.

Elizabeth paid him a quizzical smile. “Have you a lodestone in your pocket?”

Jack’s fey grin glinted gold in the lantern light. “Never heard it called _that_ before…”

“Jack!” she exclaimed, equally exasperated and amused. “Quit teasing me!”

Jack took back the compass, and watched as the needle next swung around to point steadfastly at _her._ “Tis a magic compass, love. It doesn’t point to the Isle de Muerte. True North to this compass is the thing you want most in this world.”

As the implications of this revelation sank in Elizabeth’s face lit up like the dawn. “Oh,” was all she could seem to say, though her smile said everything else Jack needed to know. “Oh, _Jack.”_ Her lips were upon his again in a trice, and slowly she urged him back towards his berth, unbuttoning his shirt as they kissed. “We had better get you warmed up, Captain Sparrow. You’ll catch your death in these wet clothes.”

Happily, he let her have her way with him.

 

**XXX**

 

Later, Elizabeth woke in Jack’s berth to find the sheets beside her empty. Disappointed, she sat up to look around the cabin. There was Jack at his chart table, sitting in his chair in the nude, every inch of his sleek coppery skin on display. Not for the first time in looking upon him, she reckoned he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He was transfixed by the map before him, whispering to himself as he charted a course with calipers walking across the parchment, pausing to take a swig of rum.

As though he felt her gaze upon him, Jack turned to regard his sleep-rumpled lover in the berth. His gentle smile held all the warmth of the sun. “Ah, look who’s awake.”

“It’s late, Jack. Come back to bed.” She pulled aside the sheet invitingly, and the heat that ignited in his midnight eyes was all she reckoned she needed to keep her warm.

But he crooked a ringed finger at her instead. “Would you like to finally know where we’re headed, love?”

Her curiosity piqued, she vacated the bed to go to him, and he pulled her down to sit in his lap. His skin was warm and smooth against hers, and she released a small contented sigh. _This was where she belonged. This was truly her home._

The map in question was of Cuba and La Florida. A spot was marked with a rather obvious red X, as well as a little illustration of a chalice that was inscribed _Aqua de Vida_. She turned to pay him a quizzical look, one dark brow raised. “Aqua de Vida? Is this a map to _the Fountain of Youth_?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his well-formed mouth. “Would you believe it?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes as she regarded him, her lips parted in thought. _Would she?_ And yet, after undead pirates and a cursed Aztec treasure, why _not_ believe in the Fountain of Youth? This was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.

“Yes, I would.”

Jack chuckled with obvious delight and wrapped his arms around her, his wiry body engulfing hers. He pressed his cheek to hers, the scruff of his beard sending gooseflesh marching across her skin. “Can you imagine, Lizzy?” he whispered. “Drinking of the sacred waters, and stopping time itself? There will be no limit to what we can do. Where we will go. Who we can be…” These prophesies were punctuated by his lips upon her skin, trailing down the long curve of her neck and shoulder.

Elizabeth sighed for his ministrations, a blissful smile curling her lips as he ignited that fire inside her once more, roaming hands caressing her shoulders and sides. A strong hand migrated to her thighs, parting her legs so that he could caress her _there._

“ _Oh Jack…_ ”

All that was fine and well. But the thing that appealed most to Elizabeth about the thought of immortality was that she could spend it with _him._ So long as they both wanted it…it was the closest to heaven she would probably ever come.

“Immortality, Lizzy…” he continued to muse with a silken whisper in her ear. “Do you want it?” He plucked at her nipple as he stroked her, and it was a wonder she could form speech, much less _thoughts_ , with the way he scrambled her insides with this sweet pleasure.

“ _I want it_ ,” she panted, pressing back against him, finding him hard and ready against the curve of her buttocks. “I want _you._ One lifetime with you could never be enough, Jack.”

Those words and the way she said his name made the pirate captain groan, filling him with desperate _need_ for her, and suddenly he stood, bending Elizabeth over the desk. With his long body draped over hers he held her, his fingers laced with hers above the X on the map. Slowly he slipped inside her tight wet quim, growling against the back of her neck with pleasure.

“ _Oh darlin’_ ,” he ground out, the most wanton cry escaping her as he filled her completely from behind, making her _whole_. His cock slowly slid in and out of her, and she felt so incredible that he could have come right then and there.  “Keep saying sweet things like that and I just might believe you.”

It was all bluster, of course. He knew very well how she felt about him. But if he needed to hear it again, she would say it. She would shout it from the tops of mountains. Or the foretop of the Pearl, or here bent over his desk like a pirate captain’s favorite wet dream. “ _I love you_ ,” she sighed as his touch returned between her legs, working in tandem with his body moving inside hers. “ _I love you, Jack_.”

His hand quickened and suddenly she broke, that ultimate pleasure washing through her with the violence of a vengeful sea. She cried out sharply as she arched against him, and almost could have missed his returned oath, delivered as a moan of ecstasy as he followed behind her. “ _I love you, Lizzy. My sweet, sweet Lizzy._ ”

They collapsed against the desk, Jack barely able to hold himself aloft with one arm. He rested his forehead against the back of her neck, panting like a man who’d just sprinted a mile, and loved it. The ropes of his hair trailing over her sensitive skin caused her to shiver beneath him. Jack kissed her languidly upon the spine, winning a lazy mewl of pleasure from the woman beneath him.

“Let’s go back to bed, love,” he suggested, his voice thick with the after effects of their lovemaking.

“I can’t move,” she protested, her cheek pressed to the map with a contented smile. Then she squealed as somehow he found the strength to scoop her up in his arms, blowing out the candle and retreating back to their berth. Snuggled deep in the cuts, Jack’s body tangled with hers and his arms wrapped tight around her, Elizabeth fell into a contented sleep, dreaming of all their adventures to come.


	16. Epilogue: Five Years Hence

A pall of anticipated mourning had fallen over the London townhouse where Weatherby Swann had taken up residence for the last few years of his life. The former Governor of Jamaica had fallen ill and it did not seem that the old man would rise from his bed again. Many of the ton of London came to pay their respects, but it was much to the puzzlement of the staff when a very fine lady came to call at _midnight_ , of all hours. She was accompanied by a swarthy gentleman in an absurd large black periwig, and though they were both dressed to the nines the butler would not let them pass until Estrella, the only maid Swann brought with him from the Caribee, urged that they be allowed passage inside.

With eyes wide with disbelief, Estrella exclaimed, “Why, this is…Mr. and Mrs…Gryffin, good friends of the Guvnor! Oh he will be so pleased you have made it, do come in. Sims, take their cloaks. Come now, come upstairs.”

Estrella ushered them inside Weatherby’s room, placing a chamberstick on the bedside table for light. When she went to wake the sleeping old man, whose breath exited his lungs with a wicked rattling wheeze, _Mrs. Gryffin_ stayed her with a touch to her shoulder. “Please allow me, Estrella. Thank you.”

The maid stepped back to give the lady room, and she carefully seated herself upon the bed. With a gentle hand upon his shoulder she whispered, “Father? Can you hear me?”

The old man’s eyes slowly opened, regarding the woman before him through half closed lids. Yet soon they opened _wide_ with disbelief, and his bony hand went to clasp hers in a weak grip. “ _Elizabeth?_ ”

She smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “Yes, it’s me.”

With tears of his own in his clouded eyes Weatherby reached up to touch her face. “As beautiful as your mother, child. But oh dear. Perhaps you shouldn’t be here…”

“Shhh,” soothed Elizabeth. “It’s alright. No one but Estrella recognizes us. Do you think she shall raise the alarm?”

Elizabeth shot a wry look to the maid in question, who was watching this scene unfold with clasped hands and dewy eyes. It only just occurred to the girl that this reunion might be considered a private affair, it was such a touching scene. Flustered, Estrella gathered herself, mumbling that she would be back in a little bit with refreshments, surely they had had a long journey etcetera etcetera as she flitted out the door. 

“Oh my dear girl.” Weatherby held her hand to his cheek. “You look well. Too _much_ sun, perhaps.”

She seemed to positively _glow_ with vitality.

Elizabeth paid Jack a warm smile, who stood by watchfully at the foot of the bed in his _ridiculous_ wig, a pair of tinted spectacles perched on his nose. “Yes. Jack takes _very_ good care of me.”

“All those pirate stories when you were a girl. If only I’d known…” Weatherby tried to laugh good naturedly, but it only turned into a coughing fit, and Elizabeth steadied him best she could. She noticed with a heavy heart when he was done that blood stained his handkerchief.

“Father, I have come to make you better. I want you to drink this.” She drew a small silver bottle from her reticule, unscrewing the stopper.

“What is it?”

“Tis life itself.”

Weatherby coughed again, though there was a sparkle in his eyes that had been absent for _years._ “Indeed? My, you have been busy in your adventures.”

Elizabeth chuckled a little, and caressed his cheek. “You have no idea. But trust me. Come now, bottoms up.”

“Dear child. I have been poked, prodded, and dosed with every foul physic conceivable to the medical profession. I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It might just be my time.”

“Nonsense. Besides. You want to live to meet your grandchild, don’t you?”

Disbelief and joy played over Weatherby’s face, and he looked between Jack and his daughter. In another life he might have been appalled by the thought of his little girl creating offspring with the infamous pirate Jack Sparrow, but now he simply could not shake the joy and disbelief that she was _here._ “Truly?”

“Truly.” She extended the bottle, and in a shaking hand Weatherby clasped it. She helped him bring it to his lips, and the old man drank the bottle down. With a smile Elizabeth set the empty container on the bedside table. “Now then, that’s settled. What would you say to a little voyage, father? We have so much lost time to catch up on.”

Weatherby couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s enthusiasm. Though he did miraculously feel better already, a strange tingling sensation spreading through his limbs, he simply counted it down to the happiness of seeing Elizabeth once more. It had broken his heart when he lost her, only briefly elevated by the hope James Norrington might bring her home to him. When the Commodore had returned empty handed he’d resigned himself to never seeing her again. But surely he would be coughing again in no time. He’d been coughing for nearly a _year_ now, and it was hard to conceive it could ever go away. “I’m not so sure that I am yet fit to travel, dearest.”

Elizabeth just laughed. “Oh, you will be, father. You will.”

She looked to the full length mirror across the room with a smile. Weatherby’s gaze followed hers, and his mouth hung agape for the man who looked back at him. No longer the picture of a man on the brink of death, skin no longer tallow, once hollow cheeks and clouded eyes now regaining their vitality once more. “Elizabeth!” Weatherby exclaimed, raising a hand to his cheek. It was supple—and his hand! He looked with amazement at his _hand_ , no longer gnarled and arthritic, his fingers straight and strong. “What on Earth was in that bottle?”

She just laughed joyfully, embracing him tight, knowing his body could withstand it and so much more, now.

“You might not believe me if I told you…”

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH, every one who has stuck with me to the end of this and left such lovely and encouraging comments! Bless your black little hearts, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! :D


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